


An Innocent Man

by theramblinrose



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Caryl, F/F, F/M, Mandrea, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:01:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 81
Words: 222,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23615650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theramblinrose/pseuds/theramblinrose
Summary: Caryl and Mandrea, AU.  Life began at forty and only got better from there.  Carol had a good job, amazing friends, and a happy life.  She didn’t need love, and she didn’t need romance.  Besides, she already knew that all men were the same.  They would all, eventually, be guilty of the same crimes.  That didn’t make her jaded; it just made her aware.  Could one man prove to her that he was different?  Could he prove to her that he was an innocent man?
Relationships: Andrea/Merle Dixon, Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier, Merle Dixon/Andrea Harrison
Comments: 108
Kudos: 251





	1. Chapter 1

AN: Before I start this story, I’ve essentially got to tell you another story. Maybe, I’ve got to let you get to know me a little bit, if you don’t already know me. 

Sometimes, in our lives, we let people and situations manipulate us. We let them make us do things that we really don’t want to do, and we let them make us act in ways that we really don’t want to act. In the past, I’ve definitely been as guilty of this as anyone else. One way in which I’ve manifested this has been in letting certain people and situations manipulate my writing. I wrote some stories, in the past, that I wanted to write a certain way. Instead of writing them that way, though, I let them be changed. I’m taking back my stories. I wanted to start with this one.

As you read this story and, in particular, the first two chapters of this story, you’re going to recognize the similarities it has with “Of A Certain Age.” That story did not go the way that I wanted it to go. I’m leaving that story up, for those who love it as it is, and I’m bringing you a different story that happens to share some of the same ideas. Beyond the cast of characters, a few settings, a couple of beloved ideas, and some starting points laid out in these first two chapters (which I really wrote before I allowed myself to be manipulated, because the third chapter is where things already started to go south), you’ll see it’s a different story. It’s, hopefully, going to be the story that I wanted to tell in the first place.

I have rewritten and changed some things in these first two chapters. If you read “Of a Certain Age,” you’ll find them familiar, but not exactly the same. 

If you have not read “Of A Certain Age,” and you’re just joining me here, then this will all be absolutely new to you, and I welcome you! 

The first chapter is not a sober chapter. It’s also got some smut in it, so be aware of that. 

If it needs to be said, I do not own anything from the Walking Dead and I do not own its characters. I'm just playing with them. All I own from the story is the plot and my personal characters.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!  
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She wasn't that kind of woman.

And she reminded herself of that while, in her vodka-soaked haze, she burrowed through her purse looking for her keys.

And she found them, at the bottom of the purse she was semi-surprised to find that she still had after the night that she'd had so far.

She didn't do these kinds of things.

And she reminded herself of that as he skipped turning on the light, and as she found the mouth of a rugged stranger in a clash of tongues and teeth—a rugged stranger whose tongue tasted of whiskey and cigarettes.

She was always a good girl...too good and shy to take a risk.

And she reminded herself of that as he deepened the kiss, pushing her body against the refrigerator and knocking several magnets to the floor to scatter across the tile. And as her body, hungry for what it had done without for so long, responded to him on its own. She ground her hips into him, her fingers tangled in his hair, and her voice coming out in soft moans at the prospective pleasure of a rugged stranger.

She was respectable – more respectable than the kinds if women who did these things that she would never dare to do.

And she reminded herself of this as she pulled him through the house, to her bedroom. As she guided him right to the place that he normally needed at least five dates to see—and hardly anyone ever lasted five dates. And she reminded herself of this as she pushed him toward the bed, and pushed him down on the mattress, abandoning verbal communication entirely.

She was too old for things like this and far too modest. Her body was past its prime and not to be displayed.

And she reminded herself of this as she ripped her dress over her head and struggled with her bra, cursing to herself about the manmade contraption while the rugged stranger lost the clothes he donned. She wrestled her way out of the clinging leggings she wore to keep the dress from being too revealing for a woman her age. And she reminded herself that she was to be ashamed of her nakedness, just before she found her way out of her underwear and stood before the rugged stranger in all the glory that her forty-seven years had to display for him.

Her mind felt so soaked and saturated by the drinks she'd had, so fuzzy and distant and not her own, that she might as well have been dreaming. The rugged stranger in front of her, on the bed, was drunk enough that he shook his head, from time to time, as though he were checking to see if he was dreaming. Holding himself in his hand, stroking himself as he looked at her, he might have been a mirage or a vision – nothing more substantial than any image that she drew to her mind at night when she searched out, desperately, her own release for the buildup of tension.

She wasn't the kind of woman who slept with a man that she didn't know. The kind of woman who didn't ask his name…or didn't remember it.

When he stood up, in front of her, she ran her hands over his arms – muscular, strong arms like she hadn't felt under the touch of her fingertips in so long.

She wasn't aggressive.

And she reminded herself of that when she dove at him, meeting him once again in the clash of tongues and teeth, and when she forced the kiss to be so deep that he pulled away slightly from instinct and need to survive.

The only sounds between them were reduced to grunts, groans, moans. She couldn't remember his name, and she wasn't sure if he'd ever told her what it was. She was almost certain, as well, that he couldn't remember hers if she'd ever even given it to him.

She never did these kinds of things.

And she reminded herself of that when his strong arms moved her to the bed, and when his tongue and his teeth trailed down her neck and scraped and licked at her skin. She moved her body into him, against him, searching him out.

For all she wanted at this point, she could have done this herself. She could have sought out the release without even needing him there, but he was there and as long as he was there – whether he was real or a mirage – she might as well make the best of him.

When he took her nipple into his mouth, biting down on it, she cried out with surprise and with the welcomed feeling of someone else, some other entity, spending time with the breasts that she'd begun to think were merely to be for decoration, unseen by anyone but herself, for the rest of her life.

"OK?" His gruff voice growled out in the darkness.

"Mmm…mmm…hmmm…" She mumbled back, unable to come up with words at the moment, and unable to put together sentences for all the thoughts that she had circling around and pin balling through her mind.

She didn't take charge in bed.

And she reminded herself of that as desperation flooded through her – desperation to be touched and desperation to feel the things that she ached to feel – things that she was almost beginning to fear that she'd forgotten entirely.

She pushed him, even though she knew that she would be embarrassed about it later – when the vodka haze left her more able to discern if this was real or an elaborate dream – downward, coaxing him down her body and hoping he would serve her and do what she desperately wanted him to do.

And she whimpered when, apparently understanding her forceful and desperate plea, he suckled her and teased her, stroking her with his finger. He moved her legs up over his shoulders so that she could feel his muscles move under her, and he could have clearer access to the very core of her.

She was reserved and she was quiet…the shyest person that she knew.

And she reminded herself of that when she cried out with her orgasm and clung to the blankets that bunched up around her with the movement of her body, thrusting her hips up, demanding that the rugged stranger taste more of her, take more of her, and not stop giving her the pleasure that she was seeking. The desire to find the pleasure, even for a night, was what had driven her out of her comfort zone, and out of her shell, and into the smoky bar with the thought of, first, filling her glass and later filling the void that sometimes felt it would eat her alive.

She might have fallen asleep when the haze of the vodka mingled with the sweet relaxation that followed the tremors that shook her body. Her head swam on the bed beneath it, and she moaned out the sweet and exhausting satisfaction of having found what she was searching for, if only for the moment. She was reminded, though, at the gentle nip of teeth on her skin and the warm wetness that returned to her too long ignored nipples, when the stranger drew them into his mouth, that the dream wasn't over yet and the rugged stranger was seeking more from her – more that she wanted to give him.

She wasn't the kind of woman to be reckless and casual.

And she reminded herself of that when he muttered, his voice muffled by the cloud shadowing her senses, something about a condom. Her mind told her it was something she was supposed to listen to, and something she was supposed to be concerned about, and something she was supposed to answer. His tone indicated clearly, even if her brain didn't take the time or the effort to understand the words, that there was to be concern there, but she had no concerns at the moment.

And she swam up, answering his question only by seeking his mouth out with hers. She found his jaw, with the rough prickle of stubble leading her further on her quest, and then she finally found his lips as she found, somewhere inside her, the strength and presence of mind to move her body again to meet his. She moved her hips to meet his, and she moved the hand, not digging its fingertips into the toned muscles of his back, down to find the part of him that was seeking the same release that she had already found once. She guided him to warm, wet core of her that still throbbed from the delicious care he’d taken with her only moments before.

She wasn't the kind of woman who even knew what to say in bed.

And she reminded herself of that when he thrust into her, the quick sting and threat of cramp followed from something so unfamiliar, something so nearly forgotten. And she cried out words that came out with her voice, rasping and dry and almost not her own, begging him to fuck her hard and with determination. Begging him to move his body for the good of them both.

And when he moved his body, she responded. The pain dulling into a sweet feeling of friction and fullness. Another of the feelings that she'd imagined she would never feel again because she wasn't the kind of woman who would seek them out from just anyone, and so few people seemed interested in working for them anymore. Time was passing quicker these days for her, and for everyone else, it seemed, and the sense of urgency that everyone carried with them made it harder for a woman like her to find anything worth having and, especially keeping.

So, she had learned to do without.

But for the moment she was drinking in her fill. She was moving without thinking, her body taking over with a mind of its own. She was falling into an animal rhythm with a man whose name she didn't know, and she was dancing a primitive dance that everyone knew, even before they learned it. Like riding a bicycle, it was something that she hadn't forgotten – no matter how long it had been.

And when she found, for the second time, the glory of the sweet feeling of oblivion that she'd sought out, her mind felt even more unaware, and even more like she was floating on a cloud, and she was sure, for at least a moment, that this must all be a dream. The rugged stranger, the glory of tension leaving her body, and the distant feeling now of hands and mouths searching each other, and of skin seeking out skin. All of it must be a dream.

She wasn't the kind of woman that took a man home that would leave before the sun came up.

But when she floated down from her feelings, like a feather drifting down in the breeze, she found herself rolling – her body feeling distant and foreign and glorious – around in the soft and familiar blankets of her bed. Her head sought out her pillow without even allowing her eyes to open and to verify that it was all just the sweet dream of her subconscious mind seeking out what it needed, sometimes, even when she swore to it that it didn't need it all – that she could do without.

And she might have found, when she woke from the dream, that she had simply woken enough to soothe herself and to answer, herself, her demanding body's requests. She might wake to find that she’d imagined, and nothing else, the answer to her body’s need with the vision of a rugged stranger.

She wasn't the kind of woman that slept with a man she didn't know.

She didn't do those kinds of things.

She wasn't that kind of woman.

But sometimes, she forgot.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Here’s the second chapter!   
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!  
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The pounding in her head might have drowned out, completely, the pounding on the door. It might have at least drowned it out for a while, but slowly Carol started to come into consciousness. Immediately she was hit with some very acute observations about the state of her body. She was thirsty. She was as thirsty as if she'd crawled across the Sahara Desert on her hands and knees, and her head was pounding with more velocity than her heart had in some time. It was practically drumming out a musical rhythm – one which she found very unpleasant for the time being. 

She groaned to herself, wishing that the feelings would go away or else she’d slip back into unconsciousness where, at least, she’d been unaware of her suffering. 

When her bedroom door squeaked open, she lifted her head just a bit – just enough to get a good look at the person who was likely to kill her. She at least wanted to see the face of the person who would end her life with an axe, or something equally dramatic, because she was far too overcome with her body’s aches and pains to have defended herself.

And it was fine, really. Given the current condition of her head, she felt like she was ready to go. 

Instead of an axe murderer, though, it was Andrea who stepped through the bedroom door. Carol’s long-time best friend brought, with her, the wafting smell of shampoo and a floral perfume that sharply contrasted with the smells invading Carol's nostrils at the moment.

Carol groaned.

"You're still in bed? What the hell? It's past nine. I've been beating on your door so long your neighbors are going to think you owe me money," Andrea declared. “I finally let myself in because I started to think you’d like—had a stroke or fallen in the shower and broken your damned neck. Now I find you’re still in the bed? What gives, sleepy head? 

Carol groaned again.

Normally it wouldn't be too early for Andrea. It had hardly ever been too early for Andrea in Carol’s world. She was used to hearing Andrea's voice at very nearly every hour of the day, and she always welcomed the sound of her best friend speaking to her. But, today, it felt like every word that she said was ripping through Carol's brain like hot nails.

"You look like shit…" Andrea said, hovering near the bed. "What the hell happened?"

Carol tried to focus her eyes. Her vision was far blurrier than it needed to be. Andrea looked around the room like she was searching out clues about what might have confined Carol to her bed, like an invalid, until the incredibly late hour of past nine. 

Carol lie back against her pillow and thought about her own situation. Slowly realization began to flood into her mind. It came along with the overwhelming presence of flashes and bits of memory and, especially, it came along with the feelings of her body and the unfamiliar ache between her legs. It came with the tidal wave of guilt and disbelief that crashed down on her when she realized what she was pretty sure she had done, but couldn't even piece together entirely. 

She groaned again.

"Oh no…" she declared, bringing her hand up to swipe at her face. “Oh, shit.” 

"What?" Andrea asked. "Your bedspread is nasty, Carol. For crying out loud, what the hell happened to you?"

"I did the thing…" Carol groaned out.

Andrea raised an eyebrow at her.

"What thing?" She asked.

"The thing. I did the thing. Oh God…" Carol responded.

Andrea came over, personal space and respect for privacy something she'd lost so long ago that Carol wasn't even sure her friend had ever really possessed it, and sat down on the bed, close to where Carol's body lie under the cover.

"Did you fuck Alice again?" Andrea asked. "Because if you did, I mean, it's not a big deal. Not really. It’s not like it bothers any of us…and we’ve all been there. But I think, if the thing happens three times, it's not really something you can call an accident anymore, Carol."

Carol groaned and struggled to sit up, supporting herself with one of her arms while the other rubbed her face and raked through her short hair.

“That was twice,” Carol said. “Twice in—how many years?” 

Andrea shrugged her shoulders. 

“Still, it was only once for me,” Andrea offered.

Carol and Alice had gotten drunk together more than a handful of times, they all had. But only twice had things gone from happily drinking and listening to outdated songs, to lamenting failed relationships, past failures and travesties, and the passing of time that was marching across their backs and across their faces. And twice, Carol and Alice had ended up having to have the awkward conversation of "sorry that we did the thing in some drunken attempt to comfort one another,” that made things awkward for at least a few days before they realized that really there wasn't any harm done. There had been no real damage.

Of course, other people had also seen lamenting at their grown-up slumber parties accidentally turn toward seeking and providing comfort that only caused more discomfort later. 

Still, when you drink, as Alice never failed to remind them when anyone was lamenting what they'd done while over their legal alcohol limit, shit happens and you just have to learn to accept that if you’re not willing to change the behavior.

Carol sighed. 

"No…I did the thing where I listen to you," she said.

Andrea snorted.

"Well then it can’t be a bad thing. You should always listen to me. I'm good to listen to. What did you listen to me about, though?" Andrea asked.

"I went to the bar, and I met a guy," Carol said.

"Did you sleep with him?" Andrea asked, looking far too amused for Carol's tastes at the moment.

"From the way I feel right now? Yeah…and I think my vagina’s sorry for it,” Carol said, wincing a little at the residual soreness. 

Andrea chuckled.

"Oooh…long time outta the saddle,” she said with a laugh. “It happens if you stay off the trail too long. Now you gotta baby her or she'll bitch at you all day.” She pulled Carol’s blankets back, clearly unmoved by her nudity. “Get up. Take a shower. You’ll feel better if you do. I'll make something for breakfast, and I’ll get you some water and Tylenol.” 

Carol shook her head lightly.

“I can’t,” Carol protested. “I think—it’s better if I just lay here and die.” 

“Stop it,” Andrea demanded. “Get up. We're going to Snydersville today. Remember? There's a sale and we're stalking that bistro. Get in the shower and be nice to your flower, she had a rough night, and she’s not feeling so great right now."

Andrea laughed, enjoying the whole thing far too much. Carol rolled her eyes at Andrea, but it was obvious that her friend found this whole thing hilarious. Of course, Andrea was a little more on the promiscuous side than Carol was and always had been. Her "flower," as she referred to everyone's vagina for the entertainment value, hadn't been out of commission in years – at least not for extended stints.

There was really nothing to be done about any of it now. What's done was done. So, Carol pushed back the covers all the way, not caring about her own nudity, and Andrea moved to let her get free from the bed. 

Carol walked toward her bathroom, wishing her head didn't feel so incredibly horrible, and ignored Andrea's wolf-whistling behind her.

"You want me to bring you the Tylenol or whatever first?" Andrea called out. "Or wait'll you eat?"

"Now…" Carol called back. “Please—you can pass it to me in the shower.” 

"Aye aye…" Andrea responded.

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By the time that Carol got out of the shower, having gratefully swallowed down the aspirin thrust at her by the arm that came through the shower door shortly after she stepped in, she felt better and was almost done beating herself up for her transgression. She still couldn’t believe what she’d done, though, and she figured that the waves of random guilt and mortification might continue to crash over her for some time.

The man from the night before had been no dream, though, and she noticed when she stepped back into her bedroom to get dressed that Andrea, without being asked, had stripped her bed for her to start the wash. Carol didn't even want to know what kind of evidence of her night was left there. Her body was sore enough to confirm that she was entirely out of practice and that she hadn't done a few good warm up laps around the track.

She slipped into one of her loose-fitting dresses that hung down to her knees, loving the way the fabric felt against her skin when she felt, otherwise, so uncomfortable at the moment, and she wrestled her way into a pair of matching leggings and slipped into her ballet flats.

She sighed at her own feeling of comfort in the outfit, especially while parts of her still felt positively grainy—the Tylenol was only just starting to truly make its presence known.

The rest of getting ready was a simple process of running some of the styling product through her hair, the volume of the chopped-off curls enough to handle most of the so-called style that she'd adapted through the years, and putting on just enough eyeliner, mascara, and lip gloss to say that she'd put on make-up. She preferred the simplicity to the more complicated process that some of her friends employed to try and hide the truth that they weren't—not a single one of them—twenty anymore. 

Carol's group of friends were one of the greatest blessings that she had in her life at this point.

They called themselves the "Glory Gals" – a name born out of a wine fed bitch session where they had all declared that thirty was the new twenty, and twenty the new thirty, and that when they'd begun to hit their forties, they'd really just begun to find the most glorious years of their lives. In their forties, after all, they’d really just begun to know, and to understand, what it was to live. 

And, in some ways, it was more than true.

Gone were so many of the self-doubts that they'd had in their youth. Gone was the need to scrutinize each and every dimple, and each and every little imperfection, because the imperfections kept on multiplying. Finally, there was nothing left to do except to realize that there was no sense in repeating, for yourself, that "next year" you would fix this or "next year" you would fix that. Next year there would be new things to fix, perhaps, that made the problems of this year look like prizes to be won.

Gone were the days of scrounging around – borrowing a dollar here and twenty there, promising ‘I'll pay you back.’ Those days were gone with the dime and penny jobs that they'd struggled through – all the jobs where they'd felt like they were selling their souls for minimum wage. Because now, even if some of them were struggling, from time to time, to make ends meet, it wasn't what it once had been.

And gone were the days of spending as much time as they once had worrying over what other people might think of them…what someone might say about their hair, their makeup, their choice in clothes, their escapades, and their mistakes.

If they were brutally honest with each other, and they more than often were, there weren't too many mistakes that, between them all, they hadn't all committed at one point or another.

All of them had pasts – what they might call rich pasts, perhaps – that were all a little different. Somehow, they made them work and, somehow, those differences had just served to bring them all a little closer together in life. Their current lives were different from each other as well, but they still made time, at least once a month, to spend time together. They gathered, typically, at the café that Carol owned and ran with Jacqui, to sit and talk under the pretense that they were talking about some book or another. Typically, their so-called book conversations got out of hand quickly, given the fact that the first confession made by any member of the group was usually that they hadn't read the book, or that hadn't finished it.

Now, especially since Carol was staring fifty straight in the face – middle age, they called it – and was the oldest of the group by at least the two years that split her from Andrea, she was realizing, more and more, how important the Glory Gals were to her. The honesty and easiness she could have with her friends was vitally important to her. 

No matter what she'd been through, and no matter what they'd all been through – no matter the falling out of touch and back in again that took place so many times in their lives – they'd always been there for each other, supporting each other, in one way or another.

When Carol came into her own kitchen, she was greeted with the smell of coffee brewing and of bacon cooking. She inhaled it deeply and walked to the coffee pot, smirking slightly when Andrea purposely got close to her and bumped her with her hip.

"Feeling better?" Andrea asked.

"Mmmm hmmm…" Carol hummed, fixing her mug. “At least as much a shower can help.” 

"So…this guy? Was he hot?" Andrea asked.

Carol groaned again, a quick gush of the guilt she thought she washed off in the shower rushing over her, and leaned back against the counter to watch her friend making misshapen pancakes in one pan while trying to keep the bacon from burning in the other. Carol didn’t offer to help her because Andrea wouldn’t have accepted her help, anyway.

"I don't really remember much," Carol admitted with a chuckle. “I mean—he must have been. Or I must have thought he was.”

Andrea glanced at her and raised an eyebrow.

"You must have been trashed," Andrea declared. 

Carol nodded her head and groaned again.

"Unfortunately, I was," Carol said. "I can’t remember the last time I drank like that. All hard liquor, too. Shows me what the hell I get for listening to you. I can’t believe what I did. I can’t—I just can’t believe I did that!"

Andrea sighed.

"I told you to go out and have a few drinks," Andrea said. "I told you to find a nice guy. Someone you wanted to…to use to get things in working order. I did not tell you to get so blitzed that you didn't even know if he was hot."

Carol groaned again. Andrea laughed quietly to herself.

“Cheer up, Carol. There are worse things in life to regret than a good fuck with a guy you thought was hot enough to bring home for a little loving. Look at this way, there must have been something about him you liked, or you never would’ve let him near your flower.” She winked at Carol and smiled to herself.

Carol sighed in response.

"I guess it doesn't matter now, does it?" She asked. She chuckled again. "I don't even know what his name was. It’s probably better that way."

Andrea looked at her for a quick second and then flipped the pancakes she was making out of the pan and onto the small stack she had resting on a plate by the stove. She took the bacon off the heat, too, and then came over, leaning beside Carol against the counter, and dug in her pocket.

"Wouldn't matter,” she mused. “Doesn’t matter. But he left a note.” A devilish grin curled across her lips, with the last of the words, as she waved a piece of folded paper around. She unfolded the paper that she’d tucked in her pocket and held it out for both of them to look at. 

It wasn't much of a note. In fact, Carol wasn't sure it constituted as a note at all. In scrawling letters, written on what she now recognized as a torn piece of paper, which she'd left on the counter to throw away when she went through the mail and had never got around to throwing out, a phone number. Just below the number, there was nothing more than the letter “D.” 

"So, let’s see. What could’ve been his name?" Andrea asked, studying the piece of paper. "Don? Dan? Ringing any bells?"

Carol shook her head. It was useless. The name wasn't in her head. She wasn't entirely sure that she'd ever known it to begin with. If he’d told her, she’d forgotten it almost immediately, and she’d never used it during the run of the evening.

"I don't know. Honestly, I don't remember," Carol said.

Andrea's eyes went wide.

"Dick,” She declared, somewhat bouncing with excitement as she continued unravelling her fantasy. “Here have some Dick. Come ride my Dick. Did you enjoy my Dick? Thanks for letting my Dick come to play!" 

Carol snorted and sharply elbowed Andrea in the ribs. Andrea slinked away to the other corner of the kitchen, rubbing her side and laughing, holding the piece of paper with a death grip.

"Well…he left this on the fridge, so he wanted you to see it," Andrea said. "You're going to call him, right?"

Carol looked at the piece of paper in Andrea's hand and thought about it. She wasn't sure that she wanted to open herself up for that embarrassment. She wasn't sure that she wanted to face the man, and to be reminded that she had basically gotten trashed, thrown caution to the wind, and invited him into her home to fuck her. After which, she'd apparently passed out and he'd left.

She could only vaguely remember what he even looked like, and that had been, perhaps, improved upon by her drunken stupor. He might not even be anything that would interest her. There was really no telling what she might find out, and how horrible it might make her feel, if she dared to dial that number.

And, if she remembered correctly, he had been quite drunk too, so she might not be exactly what he remembered her to be either.

She shook her head.

"No…I'm not going to call," Carol said.

Andrea looked at her like she'd lost her mind.

"You have got to call him," Andrea declared. "You must have liked something about him." She sounded almost personally offended that Carol was considering not calling the mystery man, known only to her as “D,” who had left his number scrawled on the envelope for a request from a local charity group seeking money. 

Carol chuckled and shook her head gently.

"Yeah, I bet that I liked that he was willing to go home with me when I was looking for a man to go home with me, and that's not exactly a foundation to build your future on, now is it?" Carol responded.

Andrea clucked at her and sashayed dramatically across the kitchen, returning the piece of paper to the fridge and securing it in place with one of the fruit shaped magnets.

"We'll leave that there. You might change your mind," Andrea said. "Gotta keep the weeds out of the garden somehow. You don’t want your poor little flower to choke and die."

Carol rolled her eyes at Andrea and moved to fix herself breakfast, hoping to get control over the remaining residue of her hangover.

Andrea could leave the number on the fridge if she wanted, but Carol wasn't going to open up that can of potential embarrassment and sheepishly call some guy whose name she’d have to ask for right off the bat, and who would probably just turn out to be an asshole, like all guys really ended up being. She wasn’t going to awkwardly try to start some conversation with this guy. Not after she’d brought him home and had her way with him. She was just too old for that kind of thing.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Here we are, another chapter. 

I borrowed some elements on this one, but you’ll notice it’s (pretty dramatically) different from the other version, as it should be. This was where the turn first started to take place. This chapter sets us up to go in the right direction.

From here out, there will be borrowed cast/characters, borrowed settings (like Carol’s coffee shop), and some precious-few borrowed ideas. For the most part, from this point forward, we’re setting out on our own and leaving the old story behind, as I hope you can tell with this chapter. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!  
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When Daryl first woke up, his initial thought was that he was going to kill his brother, Merle, for the sound of the blender. After his homicidal tendencies ebbed away a little, he pushed himself upward and finally sat on the edge of his bed, blinking through dry and blurry eyes at the glowing red numbers on the digital clock on his nightstand.

He picked the clock up, blinking a few more times, and finally accepted that the numbers read correctly. He'd slept later today than he'd probably slept in the last ten years. It was owing, surely, to the fact that he'd gone to bed far later than he should have. 

He could barely even remember how he got home, and he could only hope that he hadn’t done something stupid, pulling into the driveway, like running over some of Merle’s random plants or murdering one of his miniature herds of pink flamingos. Although, with the way that Daryl’s head was feeling at the moment, the murder of a beloved flamingo flock might be decent payment for the blender his brother seemed to be working overtime. 

Daryl got up, groaning for the fact that, for as much as he wanted to continue sleeping, thanks to the hangover that was plaguing his body, he was already cursing himself for having laid in the bed so damned long that now he was stiff as hell, and Merle was going to give him shit for it.

A trip to the bathroom followed his final rise to his feet, since there was little putting it off, and then he slipped into his pants, shoved his phone in his pocket, and shuffled into the kitchen to find Merle sitting at the table, with the reading glasses he usually kept hidden unless he was using them perched on his nose, reading the paper while he drank down one of the disgusting tasting protein shakes that he was so damn fond of making in the morning.

Daryl deposited his phone on the table, cracked open the cabinet above the sink where they kept the miscellaneous drugs, and opened up the Tylenol. He palmed two of them, cracked open a bottle of Pepto Bismol, and used the minty flavored shit to wash down the pills before he returned both bottles to the cabinet and closed it.

He sniffed at himself and shook his head. He smelled awful. He smelled like liquor was sweating out through his pores. He stunk like sweat, stale smoke, and sex.

When he finally looked back at Merle, Merle was looking at him with a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

"Nice to see your damn ass up, princess," Merle said. "Thought I was gonna have to call the morgue here before too long. Tell ‘em I had a little business to keep ‘em busy on this fine Saturday. What the fuck time you come in, anyway? Woke my ass up with all your knockin' around an' shit. Better not have killed my flamingos when you pulled up. I tell you that much."

Merle simply stared at his brother, shook his head and went to the refrigerator. Before dealing with his brother, in any capacity, Daryl needed to try to get some kind of control over the raging hangover that was eating him alive. Merle was always easier to take without a hangover. Daryl pulled a carton of juice out of the refrigerator and sniffed it. He poured himself a glass, hoping that the sour smell was indicative of it being a citrus juice, and not that it was out of date. Daryl took his glass and, groaning at his aching body, sat down at the table, rubbing at his pounding head. 

"I don’t know what damn time I got in,” Daryl said. “I don’t even hardly remember getting home, so I don’t know how many of those fuckin’ birds are still standing out there. It was too damn late. I can tell you that. I’m too old for that shit. I don’t know how you do it.” Daryl laughed to himself. “Can’t believe I woke you up. Figured you’d be out.” 

"Nah…" Merle responded. "Was gonna go out. Got hung up at work, though. Runnin’ my mouth. Picked up somethin’ to eat on my way in. Did you know that Nice Rack’s doin’ takeout now?” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“No,” he said. “I mean—I knew they’d do you up a doggy bag. I don’t know if I ever tried to just get it go.” 

“They straight-up call it take-out now,” Merle said. “You can even call ahead and they’ll have it all ready for you. Mac was tellin’ me about it yesterday, so I run by there on my way home. Didn’t have to cram into one of them booths or sit in one of them wobbly ass chairs. Got a big piggy sandwich and fries with a quarter rack on the side. All bagged up for me when I got there.”

“This story got like an end to it, or we just reminiscing about your food?” Daryl asked.

“Asshole,” Merle said with a snort. “I was still gonna go out. Then I started watchin’ this movie while I was eatin’ it. Woman looked kinda like Farrah Fawcett. Weren’t her, but…you know I always had the hots for the Farrah Fawcett kind. Blonde hair and all like that. Got so hung up in it that it got late. Figured it was some kinda sign to stay my ass in and jerk off to fuckin’ Farrah Fawcett instead of goin’ out to waste twenty bucks somewhere chasin’ some damn piece of ass.” 

“And probably one that don’t look a damned thing like Farrah Fawcett,” Daryl offered. Merle laughed in response. 

“Where the hell’d you go?” Merle asked. 

Daryl smacked a little against the film that was coating his tongue. The juice, which was extra sour on top of the minty taste of Pepto Bismol, wasn’t doing a thing to help his thirst. At least, though, the drugs were starting to chase his headache away. 

Daryl reached out and took the pack of cigarettes and lighter from the table near his brother. Merle pushed the ashtray in his direction to assist him.

"I had a plumbin’ job. Left there and took my ass straight down to Salty's," Daryl said.

Merle chuckled. He helped himself to a cigarette, as well, as soon as Daryl put the pack down. 

"Hell, I figured that damn much, Daryl. You look like hammered shit.”

Daryl didn't doubt that, actually, and he wasn’t insulted by it. He felt like hammered shit.

He wasn't as heavy of a drinker as he used to be. When he did drink, though, it tended to get out of hand pretty quickly, especially if he was drinking with the full intention of getting drunk and with the forgetfulness of how much he hated the feeling that came the day after.

Merle, on the other hand, was much more of a drinker than Daryl was and, maybe because of that fact, and the fact that he'd built up his drinking stamina over a lifetime of drinking heavily, drinking never had quite the same effect on him that it had on Daryl.

"I sure as shit drank too damn much,” Daryl mused. 

He chuckled as parts of the night came back to him. He remembered most of the night. At least, he thought he did. He didn’t remember it clearly or crisply, though. He remembered it in a hazy fog, almost like the whole world had been veiled, or like he’d seen it all through some kind fine mesh screen. 

"Went the hell home with someone," Daryl said. "Brought my ass back here after she passed the fuck out."

Merle abandoned his paper at the moment, deciding he had more interesting things to consider than searching for old acquaintances in the obituaries or trying to figure out the crossword puzzle of the day. He sat back in his chair, content to smoke his cigarette and engage Daryl in conversation. 

“You know her?” Merle asked. 

“In the biblical sense,” Daryl said. “Absolutely.” He laughed to himself. “Beyond that—I just met her last night.” 

Daryl had lived with Merle his whole entire life, minus the three months that he’d lived with a woman named Claudia that, through some kind of emotional crisis, he’d tried to convince himself he could learn to care about. He’d never actually cared about Claudia, though, and it had turned out that the feeling was mutual. After three months, they’d been more than happy to part company. She’d headed back to North Carolina to take a job near her family, and Daryl had moved back in with his brother. 

It was likely that he and Merle would live together until one of them died. And then, more than likely, the one left behind would just spend the rest of their days living with a ghost or a memory. 

They hadn’t planned it this way. Sometimes Daryl felt like there was some kind of cosmic joke that had kept them together for so long. They’d both left home together when they were relatively young, and they’d moved in together, but they’d never intended to stay that way. They’d intended to move out and find their own lives when they’d gotten enough money and found somebody to spend their lives with—someone who was a lot more attractive in both their imaginations, and also not their blood relation. They’d had very different ideas about how their lives would go, but it seemed that they’d just gotten stuck as they were. 

They worked in the same business. It was a small business owned and operated by a man that they both considered to be a friend. They offered a variety of small jobs, essentially, that ranged anywhere from basic plumbing and electrical work to minor landscaping and construction. The business was a pretty damn good business. They made a decent paycheck and worked good hours. There was almost always something to do, and if they ever needed to pick up extra hours, which they really didn't need to do all that often, there was always the opportunity to do so.

Daryl worked with Merle, who was ten years his senior, and he lived with him. More often than not, whether he liked to admit or not, he could go entire weeks or months without seeing another damn soul outside of work.

Merle was, and had always been, the more social of the two of them. He'd never had a relationship that lasted beyond a week or two, and he said he didn't have any desire to have one. He said that it closed him down from meeting new people, and that it narrowed his horizons. Daryl knew that his brother was full of shit. Merle wanted a relationship—the kind they both saw represented on the movies they watched and vowed not to mention to any of the guys they worked with—but he just didn’t pick the right kinds of women out for those kinds of relationships. Merle Dixon had a sweet tooth for women that tended to be a lot younger than him, tended to be looking for a sugar daddy to take care of them, or tended to be looking for something that didn’t come with a morning after. 

Rather than admit that it hurt his feelings, though, or that there was any kind of empty and gnawing pit in his gut, Merle pretended that he had no interest in anything more than he ever got from the women that he turned loose just as soon as he got off.

Daryl was a little different than Merle. Whereas Merle pretended to be happy with being the confirmed bachelor, he called Daryl the sweet one – the romantic one. Merle loved to rib Daryl for being the kind that gave women flowers for reasons other than to get laid. The truth was that Daryl had always been one of those that really ached to have what was represented in those cheesy ass movies that they both watched – always declaring, loudly and for each other’s benefit, that there was nothing else on, anyway. 

Daryl had always thought he liked the idea of marriage. He liked the idea of finding that one perfect woman out there – someone that was practically heaven sent, just for him – and settling his ass down with her. He liked the idea of spending the rest of his life with the woman that he thought was absolutely perfect. His own angel on Earth. He liked the idea of having a nice family and, someday, of being someone’s old man and even their grandfather. 

But life had different ideas, apparently. Because he was marching straight in the direction of being old enough to be somebody's grandfather, but he had yet to find the woman he was looking for to even begin the walk toward his own cheesy ass happy ending.

Daryl had heard plenty of assholes talk about fireworks, and sparks, and excitement. He’d heard them talk about that one woman being the one damn person you couldn't get enough of. The person that, once you found her, you wanted nothing more than to be with her until you died in her arms.

Daryl had never found that. He’d never even come close, though he'd tried to fake it once or twice under the assumption that, eventually, it might come true. He’d thought that if he chose a woman because she had a pretty face, a nice ass, or some tits to write home about, and if he managed to keep her around long enough, she’d become that woman for him. If nothing else, she’d at least become something that was as important to him as a habit and, since he’d smoked for most of his life, he knew he had the ability to form habits. 

Deep down, he didn’t want just a habit, though, and he knew that. Maybe that was why his plans to force some amazing relationship, out of something that was hardly even mediocre, had simply never worked. The longest relationship he’d ever had lasted for six months—nine months if he counted the time they got back together after they broke up, just to end up breaking up again. In the end, and after several more failed short-term relationships, he’d accepted that he didn’t want a forced habit. After several failed attempts to find anything worth keeping, here he was, nursing a hangover he'd gone in search of, sitting across from his asshole brother who was drinking a strawberry protein shake.

Merle chuckled.

“You ain’t got no idea who she was? Like—you ain’t never even seen her around? This town ain’t but so big, Daryl.” 

“Bigger’n it used to be,” Daryl mused. “Bigger’n you give it credit for.” 

Daryl rubbed his hand across his face, trying to wipe away the exhaustion and the burning in his eyes and then he took another drag off his cigarette, blowing the smoke out with something of a hissing sigh.

“Hell, if I know who she was, though. I mean—I remember she looked familiar. Like I don’t remember who I thought she was, you know? But I remember thinking that she looked familiar. Like I’ve seen her around somewhere,” Daryl said. 

“And so, you fucked her to see if it would jog your memory faster’n askin’ her name?” Merle asked with a snort. 

“Fuck off,” Daryl said, laughing to himself. “I just got to talkin’ to her. She was drunk as fuck. I was drunk as fuck. I don’t even remember if we talked about it, or I just thought how damned much I’d like it, and the next thing I know, we were at her house. I fucked her. I remember that, and she passed out cold. Like—cold, cold.” 

“You ain’t killed her did you?” Merle asked with a laugh. “Ain’t nothin’ in the paper today, brother, but I’ll let’cha know if an article turns up about some damn woman gettin' fucked to death.” 

“She was alive,” Daryl said. “I mean I’m not a total ass. I checked to see she was breathin’ and shit. Didn’t know if she’d really want my ass around the next day, you know? Mighta just been a one-time fuck for her.” 

Merle laughed quietly, and then he hummed to himself.

“Can’t help but notice, brother, that the way you say that,” Merle mused, “makes it sound like—maybe you was thinkin’ it weren’t no one-time fuck for you?”

Daryl frowned and shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh hell, brother,” Merle said. “You ain’t gone and set your eyes on some one-night stand, have you?” Daryl didn’t respond to him. Mostly, he wasn’t sure what to respond. "What she look like?" 

"What?" Daryl asked.

"You got cloth for ears, boy?" Merle asked. "What the fuck your sugar look like?"

Daryl’s stomach twisted. He could pretend it was a response to the acid that a night of heavy drinking had created, combining with the juice and other goods he’d consumed. At least the Tylenol was doing something to quiet down the snare-drum monkey playing in his head, and the pink liquid was beginning to help to settle down the burning of a thousand suns going on in his gut.

"Hell…I don't really remember," Daryl said. He shook his head. 

"Oh…bad damn news, brother," Merle said. "Get ole Jim or Jack talkin' too damn loud, and you set yourself up for a spirited damn game of bag a' hag."

Daryl chuckled again and shook his head once more.

"Nah…she weren't no hag. I mean I remember that much. I was pretty well blitzed, but…I remember she looked good. Had a nice body. Pretty face. These blue eyes to fuckin’ die for. I just kept lookin’ at ‘em while I got drunker and drunker. I mean—I don’t remember exactly what she looked like, Merle, like I couldn’t draw no picture of her, but I know she weren’t no hag.” 

Merle smiled to himself. 

“Sounds to me like you remember more than you lettin’ on, Daryl,” Merle mused. 

“She prob’ly don’t even remember I was there. She was real damn drunk, Merle.” 

“If she don’t remember you was there, then you did a piss poor job fuckin’ her,” Merle said. “And your ass deserves to be forgotten.” 

“I left her my number,” Daryl said. “You think that was a stupid thing to do?” 

Merle shrugged his shoulders.

“Some women don’t wanna call the piece of ass they was just using,” Merle offered. “In that case, wouldn’t be surprised if your number was to find its way to the landfill. Still, some women—they’ll go after that shit. Especially if you give it go her good enough, brother.” Merle hummed and nodded at Daryl, making a face that made Daryl roll his eyes.

“You’re disgustin’, you know that?” Daryl asked. Merle laughed, clearly proud of himself.

“I’m just wantin’ to know if the pussy was good, boy,” Merle said. “Did you come home with it on your breath?”

Daryl swallowed. He remembered last night like a dream after waking. He remembered snatches and bits of it. He remembered it like a story he’d heard, maybe, but with a few details he’d forgotten. He could see her face, right at the front of his memory, but its every detail wasn’t clear. He did remember, though the way she’d opened her mouth and tipped her head back when he’d hit that one spot—the spot that had made her clench around him until he’d thought she’d take his dick clean off his body. 

“The fuckin’ was good,” Daryl offered. “There weren’t no doubt about that. At least for me, and I don’t think she hated it.” 

“I know you ain’t as practiced in this shit as I am,” Merle offered, “but one-night stands are usually just that. Chances are, she wants to forget your ass just as much as you’re supposed to want to forget hers.” 

Daryl hummed to himself. He reached for the pack of cigarettes again. He picked up his phone and looked at the display that offered him nothing more than the time, day, and date. He dropped it back on the table and lit another cigarette for himself. 

“That’s just it, Merle,” Daryl said. “I ain’t sure I wanna forget her.”


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

It’s the first one where I’m not recycling anything from the old story (beyond, as I mentioned before, cast and some settings). So, I’m really excited about that! It’s like a breath of fresh air. We’re stepping out on our own now. Anything could happen (but I know what’s going to happen is going to be great, and so much fun!). 

I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think! 

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“OK,” Carol said, approaching the table. “One extra-large coffee, black, in a to-go cup, for Michonne. One large iced vanilla bean latte, blended, with whipped cream for Alice. One cinnamon macchiato with extra cinnamon, and a snickerdoodle on the side, for Andrea. And—a coffee with cream for Carol.” 

Carol owned the Gypsy Rose Café in Living Springs, Georgia. Her business partner was a woman named Jacqui Ford. Jacqui was one of the Glory Gals, and Carol had met her when they’d both been taking business classes together. Jacqui had decided to take the business classes to fulfill a life-long dream of having a nice business that got her out from under demanding, and sometimes irrational, bosses and their unforgiving schedules. Carol had taken the business classes as part of her decision to reclaim her life after she divorced the man she’d been married to—a man who had abused her mercilessly—for well over a decade.

The Gypsy Rose Café was a dream come true for both women, and they treated it as such. They both worked hard to keep it going, and it thrived in the small town where it was, really, the only one of its kind. 

There were three other Glory Gals in their little circle. Michonne was a no-nonsense lawyer who, despite having taken over her father’s business, had made her own name in town. Andrea was a hairdresser who sometimes dabbled in makeup for her clients. And Alice was a local doctor and surgeon—since everyone in Living Springs learned to be a jack of all trades. She worked, currently, at the new hospital system that had only opened up about three years prior—proof that Living Springs was growing. 

The hospital system, really, had done great things for the Gypsy Rose Café, as well, so Carol was pleased to see some of the growth of the little-town-turned-blossoming-small-city. 

The Glory Gals were the best customers that the Gypsy Rose Café had. Like clockwork, they moved through the café throughout the day, always buying something when they were there. They grabbed a coffee here, a sandwich there, and a cookie or some pie to celebrate any minor milestone. As a result, they were natural advertisement for the café, and they brought in other customers by accident and on purpose. The other great thing about the Glory Gals was that they actually patronized Carol’s business, and paid for their treats, instead of expecting her to slip them free food and beverages. Their patronage to the café was just one way that they showed support for Carol and Jacqui and, in return, each of them sought out the other Glory Gals when they had a need for the goods and services they offered to the community.

It had been Michonne, after all, that had handled Carol’s divorce from the man who had made her life a living nightmare and still, frequently, haunted her subconscious and unconscious mind in a variety of ways.

Carol’s friends were also more than happy to be her guinea pigs, so it wasn’t unusual for her to force new possible dishes on them for opinions and feedback. The forced food, of course, was always an on-the-house treat in exchange for opinions and feedback. This morning, as soon as their ordered drinks were delivered, she pulled her notepad from her apron’s pocket and sat at the table with them to record their thoughts on the samples she’d brought them.

“There’s no caffeine in this, is there?” Alice asked, happily sucking on the straw of her beverage.

“Alice, made to order the way you like it,” Carol offered, “the only thing that separates that from a milkshake is the freezing process.” 

“Excellent,” Alice remarked. “I can sleep through sugar, but not caffeine. And I swear, the moment I get home, I’m going to sleep for the next forty-eight hours without moving. I don’t think I’m even waking up for food.” 

“I’ll bring you something to eat,” Andrea offered. “I’ll leave it on the kitchen counter.”

“You really do love me,” Alice teased.

“So,” Carol urged. “What do you think? About the new stuff?” 

“Honest opinion,” Andrea mused, “was that—those eggs? Last week – the ones with the like spicy sausage and peppers and tomatoes? I mean it was heartburn hell, but it was like—hurt me, please. I’d go with that. I don’t know how I feel about this trip to Little Italy, or whatever, for breakfast.” 

“Yeah, olives, a big thumbs down for me,” Alice said. “She dramatically showed Carol her thumbs down, barely looking up from her phone where she was doing something, as she often was, and she blew a raspberry to add to Carol’s understanding of her disapproval.”

“I like this,” Michonne said. “Not—maybe not necessarily at seven thirty in the morning, really, but I like it. I think I’d like some control over the ingredients, though. Like—maybe you offer a list of what you could put in it and then I could pick. That could get rid of Alice’s olive thing.” 

“OK—nobody was listening to me,” Carol said with a sigh. “Not a single one of you was listening. Andrea, the fiesta sunrise omelet is absolutely going on the new breakfast menu. But this is part of the lunch menu. Michonne—your feedback is good. We could definitely have an ingredient list with a build your own option. That opens up the possibility for—maybe even more variety and, like you said, that fixes your olive thing, Al.” 

“Oh,” Andrea said. “Well, yeah. I mean—I’d eat this for lunch. Absolutely. I want something to—I don’t know. Something to dip it in.” 

“That’s good,” Carol said, making a few notes on her pad. “What would you want to dip it in?” 

“Ranch?” Andrea asked.

“You can’t dip everything in ranch dressing, Andrea,” Michonne chided.

“The only thing you can’t dip in ranch dressing is ranch dressing,” Alice offered. “Lose the olives, add the ranch, and I’d eat this. But don’t get rid of my hot turkey sandwich, please. I like options, not forced change. And the Glory Gobbler has been like my go-to for years.” 

“None of the traditional menu items are leaving,” Carol said. I guess—seeing that bistro in Snydersville, it just made me realize that the Gypsy Rose really needs to step up the menu options. Especially with the hospital system, and now they’re remodeling the old college. That’s going to bring in a lot of young people who are going to be looking for hip new foods.” 

“Is that a thing?” Michonne asked. “Hip foods? I swear—it’s like no matter where you go, you can’t miss the young and the hip. Whatever happened to love for the old and the comfortable?” 

“I still love the Glory Gobbler,” Alice offered. “But I mean—like you take technology. You take medicine. There’s something to be said for the new, but there’s a lot to be said for the old, too. Sometimes you just can’t beat the tried and true. Or—even the experience that comes with, you know, with age. The wisdom that comes with age.” 

“That’s the problem with almost everything these days,” Andrea said, picking up her fork and clearly deciding to finish up the complimentary sample food from her plate and Alice’s. “Everybody’s so into the new. It’s like—you just don’t stand a chance, and people don’t even realize that whatever’s new now will just be old soon enough. Like give it time. Literally.”

Carol laughed and slipped her notepad back into the large pocket of her apron. She looked up when the bell jingled over the door, and noted the first morning people slipping in before their official open at eight. The majority of them, at this hour and on a Monday morning, would be grabbing a coffee to go on their way to work. Jacqui greeted them warmly. For the time being, she could handle the drinks. She preferred the counter drinks to working the floor. She’d let Carol know if she needed her—and Carol would handle being the all-smiles and welcoming-words hostess to those who came in, soon, for breakfast and coffee, or brunch and coffee, because they were either off-work or retired. 

“Are we still talking about food?” She asked, sipping her own coffee.

“Food,” Michonne said. “Office technology—no don’t text that, we prefer everything in digital document form. Don’t worry that it adds a thousand more steps to your day and everything that can screw up, will.” 

“Techniques,” Alice said. “Even though the old is sometimes best, the new sounds flashier. It’s like some doctors would rather kill you, and have it sound good than save you by just—doing what the hell they knew how to do in the first place. It’s called cutting-edge medicine.” 

“Cutting edge techniques at the Cutting Edge, too,” Andrea teased. Her salon, the Cutting Edge, was just around the corner from the café. That made her the most common visitor among Carol’s friends, because she frequently popped in when days were slow or she had an odd block of time between clients. “But it’s not just that. I mean—let’s face it. It’s women, too. Gotta be the hot, young thing.” 

“Issues with Shane?” Michonne asked. 

Shane was Andrea’s long-time on-again-off-again sort of boyfriend. He was awful for Andrea, and all of them wanted to see her tell him goodbye for good. He was toxic to her self-esteem, mostly owing to the fact that he’d always been not-so-secretly in love with his best friend’s wife – a woman they were sure he’d had an affair with at least once. He also tended to expect a level of perfection from Andrea that, realistically, no woman could achieve—at least not past the age of nineteen. 

Andrea didn’t respond, which was really response enough for all of them. She could only stretch the food she’d taken from Alice’s plate for so many carefully chewed bites.

“He’s an asshole,” Michonne mused. She was the only one of them married, divorced, and on her second marriage. “Just like Dean was. I mean, really, the similarities are uncanny. You should get rid of his ass like I unloaded Dean. It’s bad enough to have to deal with the whole world pushing you toward new technology and learning new computer programs, but it’s something else to have to live with,” she dropped her voice and leaned in a little like anyone grabbing coffee at the counter would pay them even the slightest bit of attention, “the worry over new pussies. Tight pussies. Whatever the hell he’s on about this week. Meanwhile, they never want to hear about—bigger and better dicks when they’re harping on tight, new pussies.” 

Andrea laughed to herself and Carol caught the quick smile that flitted across Michonne’s lips. It was a smile she wiped away as quickly as it had come. She wasn’t interested, really, in waxing poetic about dicks and pussies, but she was interested in making Andrea smile, and she’d accomplished that. 

“Sometimes it’s not just the new ones that are tight,” Andrea offered with a shrug, tasting her own coffee. “Carol, here, spent half the day on Saturday walking like she’d just been on horseback for a week and bitching about how sore her flower was.” 

Carol raised her eyebrows at Andrea. The evil smirk, over the rim of the coffee mug, was the only response her friend gave. 

“So as a diversionary tactic to keep from talking about your toxic boyfriend, we have to talk about my tender issues?” 

“We can talk about Shane any day,” Alice said, putting her phone down and fully leaning into the conversation for the first time since she’d come in and chosen her chair. As the only lesbian in their group, she considered herself the pussy expert, and very little got her attention like a spirited discussion about sex—no matter what kind of sex it might be. “But Carol’s tender twat is not something that typically comes up over coffee.” 

“And it won’t come up again,” Carol said. “It was just a—thing.”

“It must have been a hell of a thing if it had you walking like a bona fide cowgirl,” Michonne said with a snort. “That could be a good thing or a bad thing.” 

Carol groaned. 

“I do remember—it was uncomfortable. At first. But…it didn’t end badly.” 

“So, why is it a one-time thing?” Michonne asked. 

“Was he ugly?” Alice asked.

“I think—I remember he was ruggedly handsome,” Carol said. “Actually, I don’t really think I remember what he looked like, but I remember that I thought he was ruggedly handsome.” 

“Ruggedly handsome, sizeable contributions in the bedroom with a performance that you said didn’t end badly,” Michonne said. “If it was just a case of being saddle sore that’s scaring you away, I can tell you from experience, with Ty, that things will adjust and a couple more laps around the arena will have you over that and sitting pretty.” 

Andrea snorted.

“A regular Dale Evans,” she offered.

“I hate every last one of you,” Carol said. “And I don’t want to discuss this—or any of your ridiculous euphemisms anymore. It was a one-time thing because we were both drunk. He’s probably mortified about the whole thing. And I don’t even remember who he was.” 

“Did you call him?” Andrea asked. 

“There’s a number?” Michonne asked.

“I can’t call him,” Carol said, shaking her head. 

“Give it to me,” Alice said. “I’ll call him. No—I’m serious. I’m great at this. I could find out whatever you want to know.”

“We could stalk him later,” Andrea offered. “If you find out who he is. I don’t have anything after four if I don’t have any walk-ins. I could close up early for a good cause.” 

“We’re not calling or stalking anyone,” Carol said. “He was just looking for what he got. That’s all. He doesn’t want—strings.” 

“He left a number,” Andrea said. “He practically left a rope, Carol Ann. It’s you who’s afraid of strings.” 

Carol sighed. She drank her coffee, but it wasn’t good anymore. There was a churning uneasiness in her gut that she wasn’t quite ready to explain or to face. 

“You know I don’t—believe in that kind of thing. Not after Ed.” 

“We’re not talking about marriage, Carol,” Alice said with a sigh. 

“Right,” Andrea said. “We’re talking about taking the stud out of the barn for a little while. Having a little fun.” 

“He was drunk,” Carol insisted. “He’s not interested.” 

“You’ll never know until you call him,” Andrea urged.

Carol felt her face run warm and her stomach churn. She’d looked at the number a dozen times since Saturday morning. She’d tried to search it online, but she’d only gotten back the information that it was a number provided by a cell phone provider that was popular in the area. She had the piece of paper stuffed in the front pocket of her purse, even now, and even though she told herself she would never call it.

He wouldn’t be interested, anyway, and even the novelty of sex would wear off quickly. Carol had never really liked the idea of casual sex anyway, and her ex-husband, Ed, had taught her that men were dangerous, unpredictable creatures. 

She’d escaped Ed with her life. She didn’t need to get back into that kind of bad situation. 

Of course, the stranger she recalled hadn’t done anything she hadn’t asked him to do. In fact, if she remembered correctly, he’d done everything she had asked him to do, though knowing that she’d made requests of him only made her cheeks burn hotter. 

Carol pushed herself, abruptly, up from her chair. 

“You better check the time,” she said. “I know at least two of you need to get to work soon. And—I’ve got to start handling the breakfast crew before Jacqui kills me.” 

Her friends looked disappointed, but they accepted that she was ending the conversation. All manner of wallets came out and Carol collected the cash that was offered to her.

“I’ll bring change,” she offered.

“Keep it,” was the primary chorus she got in response. 

“If you’re feeling old school,” Alice offered, standing up and stretching dramatically, “run down to the payphone outside Sam’s station and use it to make a phone call on us.” 

Carol didn’t miss her smirk, or her wink, and she ignored both of them as she began clearing the table.


	5. Chapter 5

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl picked up his phone and touched the button that woke it. He hated these stupid smart phones. He felt there was a point where equipment surpassed its user, and he often felt that the square of technological intelligence had surpassed him and was mocking him. He read the time. He read the day and the date. There was nothing else on the screen except the beach scene that Merle had figured out, one night, how to set as a background for the phone, but then he’d promptly forgotten how he’d done it, so Daryl would likely have the beach scene until the phone died. 

It didn’t matter. Daryl liked the beach. It was one of his favorite places. When they were kids, they really hadn’t gone too many places on vacation. The Dixons had been the vacation kind of family, except for the few times when his old man sobered up—promising every damn thing was going to change—and hauled them off somewhere for a couple of days before it all went to shit again. When they did go somewhere, they often ended up going to the mountains because the orange-roofed economy motels made it easier and cheaper to spend a weekend there, without camping supplies or an RV, than it was to travel all the way to the beach for the same span of time. When Daryl had started making his own money, he and Merle had vowed that twice a year they’d take a vacation. One would take them to the beach, and one would take them to the mountains. They hadn’t quite made both vacations annually, but they had at least spent a few weekends sleeping in cheap motels, some distance from the beach, while they spent their days with their asses in the sand.

At least the beach scene stuck to the display of Daryl’s smarter-than-it-ought-to-be stupid phone was a reminder of things he wanted to do, intended to do, and looked forward to doing.

Right now, though, he had really hoped to see more than the tranquil scene and the limited information that his screen provided him. He dropped the phone back on the table and pulled a cigarette pack out of his pocket. He lit a cigarette and tossed the pack and lighter onto the picnic table.

The picnic tables out behind work were the best place to eat lunch. They had a little tin carport covering their tables so that most weather, short of a hurricane or the few days of bitter cold they got each year, couldn’t stop them from eating out there. Nearly every day they went to pick up their choices for food, and they convened back at the tables.

“If you pick that phone up again, brother,” Merle mused, still working on his big piggy sandwich—one of Merle’s favorite meals, which he could now get it in take-out form to bring back to the table for lunch—then me an’ Axel here’s gonna think you don’t care for our stimulatin’ company.”

Axel laughed. He was working on a cheeseburger from the same place where Daryl had grabbed lunch—a burger joint called The Shack. Daryl had chewed a few bites of his food, but the truth of the matter was that he was eating it out of habit. His stomach didn’t really feel set to digest the grease-bomb burger.

“I think my phone’s broke,” Daryl muttered, taking a drag from his cigarette—the first of many that he could already feel like he’d end up smoking through lunch. 

“You drop it?” Axel asked around his food.

“Prob’ly,” Daryl said. “I mean—I drop it right regular.” 

“It cracked?” Axel asked. 

“Talk once you swallowed that food,” Daryl offered. “How about that? Nasty—don’t no damn body wanna see your mouth full of food. You chew like a fuckin’ goat.” He growled and picked up the phone again, harassing the button on the front so that it cheerfully displayed the beach, time, day, and date again. “It ain’t cracked.”

“It ain’t broke neither, brother, your piece just don’t want no more of what you give her,” Merle said with a laugh.

“Piece?” Axel asked.

Merle hummed. 

“Daryl went down to Salty’s on Friday an’ picked him up a piece for a one-night stand,” Merle said. “Left his damn number and all.”

“And she ain’t called?” Axel said. It was half question and half statement. Merle hummed and shook his head. Daryl sat back observing the two assholes in their natural habitat. “Lot of the time they don’t,” Axel mused. “One-night stand like that. They were in it for one night, like the name implies.” 

“Daryl never did put the name with the meaning,” Merle offered.

“I know what the hell a one-night stand is,” Daryl growled. “I left my number in case—you know—she ain’t wanted that.”

“And it’s Tuesday now, lil’ brother,” Merle said. “And she ain’t dialed that number you left for her. I know that shit hurts like hittin’ your shin on a trailer hitch, but you gotta let it go. That piece weren’t never yours. It was like—on loan. For one night only.” 

Daryl’s stomach churned. He fiddled with is phone and smoked his cigarette down to the butt before he put it out in the black plastic ashtray on the table. He didn’t want to admit that, since Friday night, he’d thought of little else except the woman when he wasn’t too focused on work to allow his thoughts to drift. 

He’d been drunk—too damn drunk—but not drunk enough to have been blind drunk. He believed that what he remembered of the woman was accurate. The hazy details of the night were both fading out with the passing of time, and in some cases, becoming a bit more coherent as his brain worked to stitch the fabric of his memories together without the influence of too much alcohol. 

He remembered that the conversation had been nice—though he couldn’t really recall what they talked about at all. He could remember the feeling that it had given him, mixing with the booze. He had a strong memory—a remarkably strong memory—of the woman’s fingers. They were long and slender and he remembered her brushing them over his fingers as his hand rested on the bar. He couldn’t recall when or why she’d done that—maybe she’d wanted a cigarette or it had simply been a way to get his attention, maybe it had been her invitation to ask him back to her house, since he felt, in his gut, that it had been her that had extended the invitation. 

He remembered the whole woman like something of a Picasso painting. All the pieces were there, and he could pull them up in snatches in his mind, but they weren’t in order. They weren’t in clear locations. He could see the pieces, but he couldn’t arrange them to see the whole woman as she was. 

And he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember if she’d told him her name. He supposed she must have, but it had, more than likely, come quickly at the start of their drinking together. It had been tossed out and forgotten as soon as it was heard. He couldn’t even begin to pretend that he remembered her name. He couldn’t confidently draw up even a syllable of it. 

He had no business feeling so let down by the fact that the woman hadn’t called. That was, as Merle had pointed out, what most people were looking for when they went home with someone, drunk, and fucked them. 

Maybe the biggest problem was that Daryl had seen too many of the stupid ass movies that led him to believe that he would have some instant connection with a woman and, then, would be with her for the rest of his life, building some perfect little existence under the mistletoe, at some Italian countryside vineyard, or even, simply, in a little town like Living Springs where the local population looked for any excuse to have some kind of hometown-pride festival and show off to each other.

Daryl remembered feeling something with the woman—something that went beyond the drunken lust his brother would suggest was the only thing he’d felt. There had been something about her that had made him want to sit and talk to her. There had been something that made him stay drink after drink. 

Daryl had not gone there to meet a woman. He’d gone there to have a couple drinks, on a Friday night, after finishing up an almost all-day plumbing job for a business downtown that had pipes in bad enough condition that Daryl might have been convinced that they had been there since the Mayflower landed on Plymouth Rock. 

Daryl didn’t really go to Salty’s to meet women. That was more Merle’s thing. He tended to go for the drinks, the free salty snacks which were always handed out in abundance to keep people thirsty, and the pretty decent mix of beach music and classic rock that really meant that the place catered more to Daryl’s age group and demographic than it did to a really younger crowd. There were other bars that catered more to the younger people.

Daryl wasn’t a one-night stand kind of guy. Again, that was more Merle’s scene. It wasn’t Daryl that entertained the picnic table lunch crew with stories about his weekend dalliances. Daryl was actually likely to refuse a female’s company for the evening, at Salty’s, because he often found the chattering of the women that tried to talk to him annoying. It messed with the feeling that he got from the drinks and the music. It messed with the whole reason that he came to Salty’s, in the first place, and so he was given to politely refusing most of the company that he was offered.

There had been something about the woman that had made Daryl approach her. Something that made him want to stay and drink with her. There had been something about that woman that had brought him back to her house—even though he really didn’t do that kind of thing very much. He remembered, too, that neither of them had a condom between them and, given what Daryl knew about his brother’s past adventures with venereal diseases, he was not a fan of fucking a stranger without a glove. But he hadn’t hesitated—not once she’d said she was comfortable with the risk, even without knowing that he brought very little risk to the table. 

There had been something about the woman that had made Daryl linger a bit. In his mind’s eye, when he tried to piece together her appearance, and he was left with the Picasso construction of her face and body, he could remember the curve of her cheekbone, in particular—an odd thing to remember—and the curve of her nostrils—an even odder thing to recall—because he’d leaned close to her face, before he’d left her room, and he’d assured himself she was breathing well. She was resting. He’d impulsively brushed his lips against that cheekbone. 

There had been something about that woman that had made Daryl stop, his hand on the doorknob, and turn back. Something that had made him hesitate—trying to decide if he might be welcome to stay the night, even. Something that had made him find the piece of paper, and the pen, and to hope that it was garbage and she wouldn’t mind his scrawled note across her mail.

Daryl wasn’t a man who really did one-night stands, but he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that if he’d ever believed—for even a second and deep in his gut—that it was a one-night stand, he never would have left the note. He never would have left his number.

“If you’re that sore about it,” Axel offered, “we could go down to Salty’s tonight. See what’s down there.” 

Merle laughed.

“Hoo hoo,” he howled. “Little brother ain’t ready for the Tuesday night crowd. No. He wants him a sweet one—not some Tuesday night hun.” 

“Shut up,” Daryl said, picking his phone up again and glancing at the screen. 

“You gonna rub a hole in that phone with your thumb,” Merle mused. “She ain’t messaged you in the last—oh—thirty-seven seconds, has she?” 

“Fuck off, Merle,” Daryl offered, putting a hint of warning behind his words. Axel shrunk back a little. He heard it. Merle did, too. He hummed in response.

“Gonna eat that, brother?” Merle asked.

Daryl pushed the leftover burger and fries in his brother’s direction. Most of it was there. Daryl had only managed to eat a few bites—even though he normally loved the burgers from The Shack. He almost regretted the few bites he’d eaten, though. He could practically feel them boiling in his stomach. 

“I think it’s broke,” Daryl mused at his phone.

“Maybe it’s tired of bein’ fondled,” Merle said. 

“I’m serious,” Daryl said. “I ain’t got shit on it since this weekend. Like not a damned thing. Might be broke. I could be missin’ calls from Ty, right now, about jobs.” 

“You got a job lined up for after lunch,” Merle said. “That plumbin’ bullshit replacin’ them pipes. That job ain’t goin’ nowhere soon, and Ty ain’t gonna give you another one until you finish that one.”

“Just call it?” Daryl asked. “Axel—fuckin’ call my phone. See if it’s broke.” 

Axel shrugged, crammed a couple of his final cooling fries into his mouth, and wiped his hand on his shirt before reaching for his phone. 

“Sure thing, man,” he offered. 

Daryl didn’t expect the sound of the annoying mechanical jingle, and the sight of Axel’s name popping up on the screen, to feel so much like a bullet to the chest. He moved his thumb over the button to hang up.

“Cheer up, Brother,” Merle offered, leaning over to pat Daryl’s shoulder roughly. “We’ll go on Friday. Pick you out somethin’ sweet. Hell—even make sure she knows you was lookin’ for breakfast more’n any damn thing else.” He laughed to himself. “Gotta be somebody in Salty’s lookin’ for some bacon and eggs with a man who holds down a job.” 

Daryl helped himself to another cigarette and tossed his phone at the table—that would be the reason, one of these days, that the damn thing finally broke.

“Forget it,” Daryl said. “Ain’t about that shit. I’m just glad—the phone fuckin’ works. That’s all.”


	6. Chapter 6

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. I posted another chapter earlier, so if you missed that one, don’t forget to read it before you read this one. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Carol sat at her kitchen table and sipped the glass of rosé she’d poured herself from the chilled bottle that was still well within reach. She didn’t drink nearly as much as some of the other Glory Gals, but she fully recognized that, sometimes, a nice glass or two of wine was necessary for bolstering one’s self esteem, inspiring confidence, and promotion action.

Carol was in need of all those things.

Carol ran the piece of paper through her fingers. By now, it had almost become soft from the rubbing of her fingers—the transfer of oils—and the time it had spent riding around in her purse.

Part of her wanted to believe that the man didn’t want her to call. It was, after all, a one-night stand. Carol knew, though, that the part that wanted her to think about it that way was also closely related to the part of her mind that reminded her that all men, really, were alike. They only wanted one thing from a woman, but they disrespected her once they knew that she was willing to let them have that. They were insecure and, even though Carol didn’t find insecurity, by itself, to be a real fault, they often let that insecurity make them brutal and cruel. Men hated to be wrong. They wanted to be worshipped. And they wanted to control, hurt, and humiliate whoever they could because that gave them a sense of power that the world had taken from them—just the same as the world stripped most people of power and control from time to time.

“Fucking Ed,” Carol muttered to herself. She tipped back the glass of wine and swallowed down a good mouthful of the sweet drink. She liked the sweet wine that reminded her of juice or candy. She liked the light, dizzy feeling that it gave her—almost like she was airy and her mind was capable of floating around. It made her feel happy and giggly. It wasn’t the same feeling as hard liquor. 

She didn’t like to think of Ed while she drank wine. Wine wasn’t for thinking about Ed.

Though she remembered very little about the man, she did remember that the sex had been good. It had been the best she’d had in…forever, even if she had been a little uncomfortable the following day. And he hadn’t made her feel ashamed about any of it, but that could have been because he was as shameful as she was during a one-night stand—not that the stigma was ever the same for a man.

“You’re either going to call the number,” Carol said, talking to herself, “or you’re—going to throw it away and forget the whole thing. That’s all there is to it. There are no other choices. You dial the number, or…you throw it away.”

Carol laughed to herself. She often talked to herself, but that was a side effect, she reasoned, of living alone. Sometimes it was simply nice to talk to someone—even if that someone was herself. 

She sighed. She felt glued to her seat. She might not be verbally answering herself, but there was something that anchored her to the kitchen chair and kept her from throwing the number away. It was the same something that had kept her holding onto the piece of paper since Saturday morning.

Carol picked up her phone, dialed the number, and took a deep breath before she suggested to her phone that it ought to call the stranger. Her heart drummed in her chest, and Carol focused on controlling her breathing as she heard the phone ring. She wasn’t sure if she was more hopeful that he would answer, or that he wouldn’t.

She almost hung up, her hands shaking and tensing, but she didn’t make it before there was an answer on the other end.

“Hello?” The voice asked. Carol felt frozen. She could hear her slightly labored breathing. She felt like she could hear her heart thrumming in her chest. She forced herself to relax her jaw. She wanted to speak, but she almost felt like she’d forgotten that skill, and she didn’t know how words worked. “Hello?” The voice asked again. She thought she vaguely recalled the voice, but she couldn’t be sure. She hadn’t rehearsed what to say. In all her fretting over the number, she’d never actually gotten to the part where he answered—or, if she had, he’d always simply answered in anger and declared that he never wanted to see her or hear from her again. “Anyone there?” The voice asked. “Listen—I can hear you breathin’—so you might as well say what’cha got to say. This some kinda crank call? Axel? That you? Merle? Whose damn phone you got? This ain’t funny.” 

Carol never meant to laugh to herself. There was absolutely nothing funny about the situation. She was practically glued to her kitchen chair and she’d forgotten how to form words. The man on the other end of the line was growing more paranoid and suspicious by the moment. He was certain this was some kind of joke on him. Carol never meant to laugh, but she had—just a short, quick laugh. As soon as she heard it, her heart pounded a little harder, but her muscles seemed to relax a bit more.

“You a woman,” the man said. Silence. One beat. Two. Neither Carol nor the man spoke. “You her?” He asked. 

Carol either had to hang up the phone or speak. The man on the other end of the line wasn’t livid with her for contacting him. Even when he’d thought this was some kind of call at his expense, he’d never sounded angry—frustrated, maybe, but no more frustrated than Michonne often got with Andrea, or Alice, or anyone who wasn’t quite as serious, as she often thought they should be, in situations where she thought that seriousness was appropriate.

“Are you D?” Carol asked. “I might—I might have the wrong number.” As soon as she said it, Carol worried that she might, in fact, have the wrong number—especially given the new found silence of the man on the other end of the call. Almost immediately, though, the voice in her head argued that there was no reason for the man to leave a wrong number when he could have chosen not to leave any number at all. “I’m looking for a man who—who might call himself D. And he might have…he might have given out his number on Friday night. To a woman he met at Salty’s Bar. Are you…are you D?” 

Carol washed down some of her anxiety with a swallow from the wine glass, and she reached for the bottle and topped off her glass while she waited for the man on the other end of the line to decide if he was D or not.

“Daryl,” the man said. “I’m—Daryl Dixon. And you’re…?” He left it hanging.

Carol laughed to herself. 

“I think I’m the woman that you—met on Friday night,” Carol said. “If, in fact, you met a woman on Friday night.”

She rested her forehead on her hand and her elbow on the table. She didn’t know if she was humiliated or relieved because, as dumb as such a thing might sound, she liked the sound of the man’s voice.

Daryl—because that was his name, Daryl, and Carol turned it around in her mind and committed it to memory as though she’d ever need it again after this embarrassing phone call—laughed quietly to himself. He coughed into the phone.

“Sorry,” he said. “Sorry. Yeah—I’m…Daryl. I’m that Daryl. I don’t—uh—I didn’t catch your name.” He laughed nervously to himself and Carol smiled. “I don’t know if you didn’t throw it or if I just forgot it.” 

“Carol,” Carol offered.

“Carol,” Daryl repeated. “Yeah—that’s a pretty name. It uh—makes me think of Christmas.”

Carol laughed to herself.

“I’ve heard that before,” she offered.

“I bet you have,” Daryl said. “So—this your number? That you callin’ from, Carol?” 

“Do you think I borrowed someone else’s phone to call you?” Carol asked.

“You don’t never know,” Daryl offered.

“It’s my number,” Carol confirmed. 

“So now—I got your number,” Daryl said. “I mean—if that’s alright. You didn’t bother to block it or nothin’ so…I’m guessin’ that’s alright.” 

“I guess that depends on what you intend to do with my number,” Carol said. 

“I weren’t gonna sell it to no telemarketers,” Daryl offered. “If that’s what you scared of.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Carol said. She picked up her glass and sipped some of the wine. She felt like she remembered the man. Maybe she didn’t remember his face—because there was really very little about his face that she could recall in any detail—but she remembered the way that he made her feel. There was a sense memory that went with the ache of her cheeks and the welcomed relaxation of her shoulders. Carol sat back in her chair and, using her feet, she slid the other kitchen chair out so she could rest her sock-covered feet on the seat of it. “What did you intend to use it for?” 

“I don’t know,” Daryl said. “I guess—lot of that’s up to you. I mean—I got ideas, but they don’t really matter none if you ain’t interested in ‘em.” 

“What ideas did you have?” Carol asked.

“Maybe—I could use it to ask you out for drinks?” Daryl asked. 

“I know you’re not going to believe this,” Carol said, “but I really don’t drink that much. I mean—I like a drink. Maybe two. But I don’t usually drink, you know, like I did on Friday night.” 

“Me either,” Daryl said. “And I ain’t just sayin’ that shit ‘cause you said it, neither. I like a drink or two. A couple beers to knock the day off, but…maybe we don’t do drinks. Maybe we do somethin’ else, then.” 

“What’d you have in mind?” Carol asked. 

Her heart began to pick up pace, again, as she considered the actual possibility of being face to face with the man that was on the phone. It was one thing to talk to him when she was in her kitchen and he was—wherever it was that he happened to be at the moment. It was another thing, entirely, to put herself in the same space with him. Despite what they’d already done together, it all seemed a bit overwhelming. What they’d done together, after all, had been brought about by too much alcohol and by impulse decisions. This was knowingly and willingly putting herself in a room with a man that she didn’t know at all—and she hadn’t been on a date in a very, very long time. She was almost afraid that she didn’t know how to date, anymore. Beyond that, she was terrified that she might find that she didn’t want to date—and men, when they weren’t getting what they wanted, were the most dangerous of all.

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, when she realized that she’d been listening to the internal noises of her own body, and her screaming inner voice, and she’d entirely forgotten to listen to Daryl as he spoke. “I didn’t hear what—what’d you say?” 

“I said—I could pick you up,” Daryl said. “Dinner? I was thinkin’ Friday just because we don’t have to—you know—be too rushed. But, if you like a different day…I mean I gotta eat most every night.” 

In spite of all her anxiety, Carol laughed to herself, and she swallowed the laughter back, thankful for the few knots it helped to untangle in her chest.

“I’m sorry,” Carol said. “Maybe—not dinner?”

“Oh,” Daryl said. Carol was almost certain that she heard disappointment in his voice. 

“I just mean—it’s the first time we’re meeting and all…I mean, I know it’s not the first time, but…”

“No,” Daryl said, cutting her off. “No. I mean—I understand. I get it. You don’t—you don’t gotta explain.” He cleared his throat. “You—so—did you have, I mean, somethin’ else in mind or…you was just callin’ to say no dinner like…like don’t call again or? I’m sorry. You prob’ly don’t believe me, but…I haven’t actually done this before.” 

“Me either,” Carol offered softly.

“I hope you didn’t mean that you don’t want me to call this number back, never,” Daryl offered.

“That wasn’t what I meant at all,” Carol said. She realized it was true even as she said it. 

“Good,” Daryl said. Carol could practically hear his smile. “So—no dinner. OK. What’d you—what you think would be good? I mean…for the first time, you know…since the other night don’t count.” 

“Coffee?” Carol asked. “Do you drink coffee?” 

“Coffee?” Daryl asked. “I mean—yeah, coffee. Great. I love—love coffee. Drink it every morning.” 

“Great,” Carol said. “Coffee. We can meet at the Gypsy Rose Café. You know where that is?” 

“Main street,” Daryl said. “Fancy little café.” 

“Is it fancy?” Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Maybe not,” he said. “Just—fancy to me, I guess. I usually drink coffee outta a mug at home or one of them travel cups in the car. Sometimes I drink gas station coffee. That’s all I meant.” 

“You’ll like the coffee there,” Carol assured him. 

“I don’t think I’ll mind, either way,” Daryl offered. “When?” 

“When do you want?” Carol asked. “Friday?”

“Friday was for dinner,” Daryl said. “For not worryin’ about runnin’ late. But if we’re just talkin’ about coffee, I’d rather sooner than later. That way, if the coffee goes OK—and you ain’t opposed to it—maybe we could still talk about dinner on Friday.” 

Carol’s heart drummed out a response to the suggestion. It felt overwhelming. It felt like too much, too soon. But she understood where Daryl was coming from, and she didn’t bother to shoot down the idea. After all, they hadn’t had coffee, and that could change everything. Maybe, in fact, he wouldn’t even want dinner with her once he’d seen her again. Anything could happen.

“Tomorrow?” Carol asked. “Is that—is it too soon?” 

Daryl laughed.

“What the hell I got to do to get ready for coffee? Tomorrow’s good. I clock in at 8:30.” 

“We can meet at 7:45,” Carol said. “The café doesn’t officially open until eight, but that’s just a number. People are always coming in any time after 7:30.”

“Sounds good to me,” Daryl said. “You’ll know me. I always wear a work shirt that’s got my name on the pocket. Daryl. I guess—I’ll see you tomorrow, Carol.” 

Carol smiled to herself. Her heart was dancing, completely out of rhythm, it seemed, in her chest.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she confirmed. “Goodnight, Daryl,” she offered. She heard his wish of a good night before she hung up the call and sat, for a few moments, sipping her wine and thinking about the rugged stranger—who she now knew was named Daryl—whose face was about to get a lot clearer in her mind.

And she hoped, for the sake of her nervous heart, and her even more nervous mind, that she hadn’t made a mistake.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“Please…please…please, Carol. Please…please…just let me have this…please,” Andrea begged, holding onto Carol’s arms while Carol held onto hers and tried to throw her body weight into shifting her friend across the café floor toward the door. Andrea outweighed her—not by too much, but by enough. On top of that, Carol was almost certain that Andrea’s legs, in some way, were simply stronger than Carol’s. Once she’d locked them, determined not to be dragged by any force incapable of simply heaving her up and carrying her out the door, she was practically immovable. Carol could tug her forward, but she seemed to snap back to her spot unless Carol was actually willing to topple her friend to the floor.

Andrea was alternating between begging and laughing, unable to decide which she needed to entertain most. 

“Carol—I swear…you’ll never know I’m here,” Andrea promised. “I’m so hungry…so hungry…I’m going to order food for me, and my curiosity, and we’re both going to eat.” 

“You’re nosy,” Carol informed her, laughing in spite of herself.

“I’ll order a plate for my nosiness, too,” Andrea promised. “Please—you’ll never know I’m here.” 

“I already know you’re here,” Carol pointed out. 

“You need me here,” Andrea said, switching tactics without missing a beat.

Carol sighed and let go of Andrea. Her hands were tired and she’d probably made the upper part of her friend’s body sore from all the tugging.

“Need you?” Carol asked, putting her hands on her hips and ignoring the fact that their impromptu wrestling match had been a pretty decent workout for this hour of the day.

“It’s like—a safety net,” Andrea said. “You know—you go on a date with a stranger and you’ve got the friend you call halfway through the night? She can save you if you need it and sweep you out of there. Well, you don’t even have to call me. I’ll be right over there with my breakfast and my magazine…and if you need me? I can come and drum this guy out of the café like that.” She snapped her fingers. “All you have to do is give me some kind of sign. Something like—like drop your hand down where I can see it and give me a little wave like this.”

Andrea demonstrated for Carol her escape wave to be performed under the table and, clearly, in sight of the blonde. 

“It’s coffee,” Carol said. “And Jacqui’s here and people are going to be in and out. I sincerely doubt he’s going to take advantage of me.” 

“OK, fine,” Andrea said. “You probably don’t need back up or protection or anything else, but I have to see him. And you’ll want to talk about him later. You’ll want my opinion, even if you don’t know it now, Carol. And if you tell me to leave, then I’m going to go ahead and tell you that I’m going right out that door and stare in through the window. Or I’ll go around back and come in the kitchen door and then I’ll just hide behind the counter. Carol—please?” 

“Why?” Carol asked.

Andrea gave her the best puppy dog face she was able to muster up. 

“To live vicariously? To just know? Carol—all I’ve got in life is free porn, Shane, and a few shitty Harlequin novels. At least let me see the mystery guy you hooked up with on some kind of Hallmark movie Friday night.”

Carol laughed to herself.

“It was hardly Hallmark,” she said.

“HBO,” Andrea said. “Pay-per-fucking-view, Carol. Even better. Please let me stay? I’ll have coffee and enough food to kill a horse. I don’t have a client until nine thirty.”

Carol sighed, but she couldn’t actually be mad with her friend. All the Glory Gals were there for her, and she appreciated that, but Andrea, perhaps, was always a little more there for her than anyone else. Andrea was the friend that, if Carol needed her, would be on the front step with ice cream and wine at two in the morning—no questions asked.

“OK,” she said. Andrea smiled. “You’re right. It might make me feel better to know—you’re here.” 

“And if it goes bad, you can tell me all about it,” Andrea said, affectionately grabbing Carol’s arms in place of the rough hold Carol had on hers only moments before. “And if it goes great,” she added, raising her eyebrows, “you can tell me all about it.” 

Carol relaxed. Now that she’d accepted that Andrea would stay, instead of being rushed out like the rest of her friends, Carol was glad that she was staying. 

“He’ll be here any minute,” Carol said, glancing toward the door at the jingle of the bell. It wasn’t him. She knew the customers that stepped in together—a couple that was always there before work, and before they officially opened, to grab a cup of coffee to go. 

“Nervous?” Andrea asked. Carol nodded and Andrea reached and picked at her hair—shaping the bits of unruly hair as they went in one direction and another—with her fingertips. “Don’t be nervous. You’re beautiful. Gorgeous. You already got his attention once. Enough to get him to go with you. Enough to make him come for coffee today.” 

“What if—he’s not at all like I remember him?” Carol asked.

Andrea gently shrugged her shoulders. 

“Then maybe you’ll like the man more than the memory,” Andrea offered.

“What if—he’s an asshole?” Carol asked.

“Then we’ll drive him out of town with pitchforks,” Andrea teased. “But—right now? Why not just think—he’s a nice man that you have…at least decent memories of…and he’s come to share coffee with you.”

Carol sucked in a breath and relaxed a little more as Andrea fussed over straightening her hair and her clothes. She’d already talked her out of her apron.

“You’re right,” Carol offered. 

Andrea rested her hands on Carol’s shoulders and smirked at her. She raised her eyebrow in the way that let Carol immediately brace herself for what she knew was coming.

“I’m always right,” Andrea assured her. “And, if you like him? You can get him to remind you, sans alcohol, about everything that had you walking like John Wayne.” 

Carol laughed to herself and shook her head.

“Go sit down,” Carol said. “Out of the way. Tell me what you want. I’ll put in your order while I’m waiting.” 

“Full breakfast,” Andrea said. “All the fixings. No substitutions. Plain coffee.” 

Carol nodded her acceptance of Andrea’s order and gestured toward the back corner, away from the table that Carol had chosen for herself and the man she remembered only as a rugged stranger. 

“Go sit down,” Carol said. 

“Yes ma’am,” Andrea teased. “And, Carol?” Carol hummed at her. “Good luck.” 

Carol laughed to herself, not wanting to admit that her stomach felt like it was full of butterflies—something that was absolutely ridiculous at her age—but also knowing that she didn’t have to admit such a thing to Andrea. Andrea would already know. 

Carol put in Andrea’s order, glanced at her watch, and asked Jacqui to reassure her, one more time, that she didn’t mind handling the café for the short period of time while Carol was having coffee. Jacqui’s joking response was that in all the time she’d known Carol, she’d never had so much as a coffee date before. She’d be more than happy to run the café the whole day if Carol would drink coffee with a man she liked for that long.

While she waited for Daryl, Carol nervously arranged sugar jars and sweetener packets on various tables and cursed at her hands for shaking, her stomach for fluttering, and her heart for dancing something akin to an Irish jig. Mercifully, she didn’t have to wait for long before the jingling of the little bell produced a stranger instead of one of the normal early customers.

Immediately Carol knew it was him. She still didn’t really remember his face, though she found it a nice face to look at now, but she knew it was him. Her body practically recognized him. She stopped fussing with sweeteners at an empty table, stood up, and brushed her hands on her pants in case any spilled sugar remained there from where she’d brushed it off of the table.

He was gnawing at his cuticle, looking around nervously, when his eyes settled on her. He stared at her, a moment, and continued to gnaw his cuticle. Then he dropped his hand from his mouth and walked in her direction, rubbing his own hands on the sides of his shirt.

“You—Carol?” He asked.

Carol smiled at him and nodded. 

“Daryl?” She asked, even though she already knew the answer. He nodded and stuck out a hand, rather awkwardly and stiffly. He started to pull his hand back, clearly unsure of the correct greeting in this kind of situation. Honestly, though, Carol didn’t know the proper greeting for this sort of thing, either, so she accepted his handshake. He seemed to relax a little when she didn’t immediately reject it, and she enjoyed the way that he clasped her hand in both of his to shake it.

“I’ll get coffee,” she said. “Anything special?” 

“Just black,” Daryl offered. Carol nodded and gestured toward the table she’d chosen. Daryl nodded his understanding and sat. 

Carol screamed at herself, in her head, about being the kind of woman who was so touch starved for male affection that she’d actually found herself enjoying a handshake. It didn’t bode well for her common sense if she didn’t get things under control. She decided, for her own sake, not to make eye contact with neither Andrea nor Jacqui as she ordered the coffee and brought the mugs to the table. She sat down across from Daryl before she brought her eyes up from focusing on the floor.

Daryl cleared his throat.

“Shoulda—pulled your chair out. Got mixed up with the sittin’ down before you. Shoulda—ordered the coffee.” 

Carol smiled to herself and relaxed into her chair. She noted the strange sensation as her muscles seemed to relax without explicit direction or permission from her mind. Somehow, she knew him. One half-forgotten, alcohol-sodden, shameful night together, and a one awkward phone call, and Carol’s body would convince her that she knew this man almost instinctively—like she could recognize him from smell alone. She scolded herself for her ridiculousness. 

“It’s fine,” she assured Daryl, grateful that he could hear nothing of her inner voice. “I—actually own the café. Co-own it. With Jacqui.” She gestured toward Jacqui who was serving some people at the counter who wanted easy coffees that took relatively little energy and effort.

“It’s a nice place,” Daryl mused. “Busy. Even though it ain’t open yet.” 

Carol smiled.

“A lot of people grab coffee before work,” Carol said. “It’s before our technical opening hour, but…we know everyone that’s a regular. And if they’re new here, then they’re likely to be a regular if they feel welcomed in the morning.” 

“You might have a point about that,” Daryl agreed. He drank his coffee a little too quickly, and Carol saw him grimace over the fact it must have burned his mouth. He tried to ignore that, though, and Carol pretended that she hadn’t seen. “Good coffee,” he asserted.

Carol swallowed back her amusement.

“It’s my favorite blend we have,” Carol said. “I named it the Cherokee Rose blend because it’s a light blend. It’s not popular among those that prefer a darker coffee.” 

“Not so bitter,” Daryl said, this time carefully tasting his coffee. “I like it,” he confirmed again, resting the mug on the table. He stared at Carol. She stared back at him. She watched his Adam’s apple bob. Looking at him now—sober and with the full light of the morning streaming in, she could see why her mind had remembered him as a rugged stranger. There was something distinctly rugged about him. His skin, in addition to the work shirt with his name on it, declared that he’d probably spent much of his life in hard, manual labor. The lines around his eyes suggested he’d probably spent less time wearing sunglasses than he should have. Still, with short-cropped hair and a smile that tugged up one side of his mouth when he looked at her, there was something she found quite attractive about the man.

She could only imagine what he might think of her with sobriety and sunlight bringing out all the harsh reality on her face.

Carol directed her eyes away from him and toward her coffee cup for a moment. Suddenly, her stomach ached, and she wished she hadn’t asked him there. She wished she hadn’t dialed the number. This kind of impulsive thing only led to getting her feelings hurt and she’d been just fine without that.

“Glad you met me,” Daryl offered, clearing his throat nervously.

Carol looked up at him, again, and felt warmth flood her cheeks—he’d be sure to see the color rush to them. 

“I’m sorry,” Carol said. “I don’t know—what to say.” 

“I think you’re doin’ fine,” Daryl offered. “Maybe—there ain’t no right thing to say. It’s just whatever the hell we think of. You think?” 

“Where do you work?” Carol asked. “Your shirt looks—familiar.” 

Daryl looked at his shirt like he hadn’t seen it before and nodded.

“Yeah—I work for Williams’ Workers,” Daryl said. “It’s a, well…it’s a sort of catch-all handyman business. Just about any damn thing you could want done, I do it.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I try to be accommodating.” 

“I remember something like that about you,” Carol said, sipping her coffee. Immediately, she regretted her choice and her face burned hot as she laughed to herself. “Shit. I’m sorry. I swore—I wasn’t going to do that…anything like that.” 

Daryl, thankfully, laughed across the table. He shifted in his seat, but Carol thought he relaxed as he leaned forward and rested his arms on the table, bringing them closer together.

“We can pretend it didn’t happen,” Daryl said. “Or we can acknowledge it did. Either way, it remains the same. And I don’t care either way. Whatever makes you more comfortable.” 

“You say that like—almost like—you expect us to have more than this one conversation,” Carol said.

“I kinda hoped we would,” Daryl said. He shook his head. “Now that I got your number and all. I don’t gain nothin’ by lyin’ about it. Playin’ coy, as my brother might say.” He sat back in his seat. “I’ma respect you if you say that ain’t what you want, but I won’t pretend that I hope that’s what you’re gonna say.” 

“I think you should probably know that—the shirt looks familiar because one of my best friend’s husband owns that business,” Carol said. 

Daryl smiled to himself and shrugged his shoulders. 

“Then he can put in a good work for me when she checks me out—'cause I know she’s gonna. And she ought to. I got nothin’ to hide,” he offered. “I’m a steady worker. Have been for years. Do some jobs that maybe ain’t the most glamourous jobs, but they keep the bills paid.” Daryl turned his wrist and glanced at his watch. “Speakin’ of which—I gotta get goin’ soon. Let me pay for the coffee?” 

“On the house,” Carol said. 

“Let me pay next time, then,” Daryl said. 

Carol smiled to herself.

“It’s presumptuous to say next time, isn’t it?” She asked.

“Nothin’ ventured, nothin’ gained,” Daryl said. “Is there gonna be a next time?” 

“For coffee?” Carol asked. Daryl shrugged.

“That dinner’s still on the table,” Daryl said. “Friday night.”

“Where would you want to go?” Carol asked. 

“Wherever’s good to you,” Daryl assured her. 

“I don’t like to choose,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s a—thing.”

Daryl laughed to himself.

“If that means you’ll go to dinner with me, then you don’t never have to choose,” Daryl assured her. 

Carol’s stomach fluttered. She nodded her head.

“OK,” she said.

“OK?” He asked.

“OK—I’ll go to dinner with you,” Carol said. “Friday night. Just dinner.” 

Daryl held his hands up in mock surrender. 

“Just dinner,” he said. “Pick you up?” 

“I’ll let you know,” Carol said. “Can you text?” 

“Text, call—I don’t got that Facebook whatever, though,” Daryl said. 

“I’ll text you,” Carol said. 

“I’ll keep an eye out for it. Thanks for the coffee,” Daryl said, standing up. Carol flipped her phone over, glancing at the time.

“Don’t you—I mean…I guess if you need to get to work, but…don’t you still have a little time?” Carol asked.

Daryl smiled.

“I wouldn’t mind a cigarette before work,” he said. “Bad habit I got. You oughta know about it. Besides—your girlfriend back there has either got to piss somethin’ awful or is dyin’ for you to tell her what the hell you think of me. I was thinkin’ you might wanna talk to her before you settled into work good. And—it might do me good if you did.” 

Carol looked over her shoulder. Andrea, who had apparently been quite interested in everything that had been taking place, immediately dropped back and half-covered her face with a magazine.

“I’m sorry,” Carol said with a sigh. She looked back at Daryl.

“Don’t be,” he offered. “Might get me that text sooner, rather than later.” His thumb went back to his mouth and he gnawed at his cuticle the same way he had when he’d first come in the door. He didn’t offer his hand to shake, though Carol though he might for a moment. Instead, he simply shuffled a little and visibly tensed. “It was good to see you again—or for the first time—however you want it to be.” 

Carol smiled to herself.

“It was good to see you,” she said, leaving it at that. “Talk soon?” 

“Hopin’ so,” Daryl assured her. He somewhat waved at her before simply walking away like he didn’t know how to end the conversation. He stopped, just before he got to the door, and waved back toward the back of the café. Carol didn’t have to look behind her to know he’d waved at Andrea. She didn’t have to look behind her, either, to know that Andrea was watching her.

Carol watched Daryl leave. Out the window, she saw him pause, light a cigarette, and pull his phone out of his pocket. She watched him stare at it, like he was waiting for something, before he returned it to his pocket. Then he looked back. She felt her face burn warm when he looked straight at her. He smiled, catching his cigarette between two fingers, and waved at her, again, before he started down the sidewalk to the place where he’d presumably parked. 

Carol gathered up the coffee mugs to return them to the counter and get a refill for herself. A glance in Andrea’s direction told her that Andrea was already waiting for her to join her.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“He’s handsome,” Andrea said, after Carol had scolded her for not being nearly as invisible as she had promised to be. “I see where the rugged thing came in.” 

“He’s…” Carol started and broke off. She smiled to herself, and then broke to laugh quietly to herself, when she saw Andrea’s expression.

“Don’t try to deny it,” Andrea pressed. “You told me that you liked what you remembered of how he looked. You know you think he’s handsome.” 

“Fine,” Carol ceded. “He’s handsome. Does that make you happy?” 

“It seemed like you had a pleasant conversation,” Andrea said. “Even if it was too short.” 

“He seems—nice,” Carol ceded.

“Then why do you say that like he offered to dismember you?” Andrea asked with a laugh. 

“He asked me out on Friday night,” Carol said with a sigh. “To dinner.” 

Andrea raised up in her chair like she might crawl across the table. She reigned in her excitement, though, and lowered herself back into the chair. 

“Where are you going to dinner?” Andrea asked. 

“I don’t know where,” Carol said. “I told him that I don’t pick.” 

“There’s a new buffet place that just opened up outside of Chester,” Andrea said. “I heard they’ve even got crab legs. The drive would give you the chance to talk and you can tell a lot about a person by the way they eat at a buffet, Carol.” When Carol simply stared at her, Andrea shrugged her shoulders and drank a long swallow from her second or third cup of coffee. “Of course—they say that McShae’s in Chester is a really nice restaurant. If you wanted something really fancy.” 

Carol laughed to herself.

“I don’t think Daryl struck me as a really fancy kind of guy,” Carol said. “I’m sure it’ll be steak and potatoes.”

“Do you suddenly have something against steak and potatoes?” Andrea asked. “If you’re willing to drive thirty minutes in any direction, you can eat just about anything you want. I’m sure he knows that. If you told him what you wanted? He’d probably take you wherever you wanted to go.” 

Carol sat back in her chair and frowned to herself. She drank down some of her own coffee. It really was her favorite blend—even if they had to always have the two choices because the strong coffee fanatics just didn’t care for Carol’s choice. Her blend was smooth, and it was never bitter. It was an oddly comforting cup of coffee, and it made her feel like being wrapped in a cozy blanket—all in a warm morning drink. Keeping the blend available every day was, in some ways, something that felt like an act of rebellion on Carol’s part. But she loved it, and there were others who loved it, too. They validated, without knowing it, her tastes and desires.

“Steak and potatoes is fine,” Carol said. “You know I like steak and potatoes. I just—don’t know if I’m going to accept the invitation.” 

Andrea looked at her with genuine shock and surprise—and, perhaps, even a touch of injury. If Carol had flung the hot coffee directly into her face, she doubted that Andrea could have looked more surprised.

“What do you mean you don’t know if you’re going to accept it?” Andrea asked. “It’s dinner.”

“He seems nice,” Carol ceded, addressing her own thoughts outside of her head and with Andrea as an audience, “but what if he’s not? What if we start this and…”

She broke off. Andrea picked up her phone and typed furiously. Carol sunk back into her chair and chewed on her thoughts and her concerns. She’d thought that Ed, when they’d first started dating—way back when they were practically children—seemed really nice. She’d found a million and one ways to excuse every red flag that popped up from the time they’d started dating until she’d finally sat down and realized, one day, that it was never going to get any better, he wasn’t sorry, and one day he wouldn’t stop until he’d actually killed her. 

Carol shivered just remembering some of her life with Ed.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Carol said. “And people aren’t always what they seem.” 

Andrea nodded. Brow furrowed, she stared at her phone. She hummed.

“I’m listening to you, Carol Ann,” Andrea offered. “I hear you. I can multi-task. I’ve got a big brain—despite what the hell Shane might tell you. And you’re right. Looks can be deceiving. I was Al’s date to a boring doctor party thing two weeks ago, and I got an oatmeal raisin cookie that I would have sworn was chocolate chip. But, really, it was a damn good oatmeal raisin cookie, so I got another and, maybe, one or two more.” 

Carol rolled her eyes at Andrea when Andrea looked up from her phone and grinned at Carol with satisfaction.

“That’s a cookie, Andrea,” Carol said. “We’re talking about—people.” 

“My point remains the same,” Andrea said. “Maybe you see something, sometimes, because you want to see it so badly. I know you’re thinking of Ed. Maybe you saw him and you thought you wanted chocolate chip. You saw chocolate chip. He wasn’t what you saw and he wasn’t what you wanted.”

“Although you’re the poet laureate of the Gypsy Rose Café,” Carol offered, “your analogy doesn’t really work when it’s extended. I’ll accept that Ed wasn’t what I thought I saw, and he certainly wasn’t what I wanted, but I never ended up thinking that—even though he wasn’t what I thought I wanted, he turned out to be the most incredible man either.”

“You’re too short sighted,” Andrea said. “My analogy wasn’t meant to end there. And it wasn’t really about Ed. Ed’s history. We decided that, right? We were going to leave Ed Peletier in the past. There’s no room for him here. Not anymore. The last accounts we had of Ed, he’d gone to—where was it? Arizona or New Mexico or something. And he can go straight to hell, right? But this wasn’t about Ed. I was going to say that—maybe you think you want chocolate chip, so you’re looking at Daryl and you’re thinking he looks like chocolate chip…but hunting for chocolate chips didn’t really do you any good before, right? Maybe you find out he’s oatmeal raisin.”

“And I discover that I just can’t live without oatmeal raisin,” Carol teased, putting on her best “romantic” voice to tease Andrea as the blonde picked at something on her phone.

“Oatmeal raisin has a bad reputation,” Andrea said. “People overlook it. They think it’s inferior in some way. But you know what oatmeal raisin is? It’s really one of the best, underrated cookies that exists. It’s comforting. It’s warm. It tastes like cinnamon, and holidays—and comfort.”

Carol laughed to herself. She drank more of her coffee. 

“I do like oatmeal raisin,” Carol ceded.

“I know you do,” Andrea said. “I also know that I better not let Shane hear my fat ass waxing poetic about cookies.” She sighed. “Or let him hear that Alice let me eat cookies unsupervised.”

“It’s been years since you choked on a cookie,” Carol teased. “I think you can eat them unsupervised. And please don’t get me started on Shane. Because you and I both know how I feel about him, and that’s just going to put me in a bad mood for the rest of the day. You could do so much better than him.” 

“The pickin’s are slim in Mayberry, ma’am,” Andrea drawled out, dramatically, teasing Carol with her overexaggerated words.

Shane was an asshole. He wasn’t quite the asshole that Ed had been, but he had a lot of undesirable features as a partner. He was hard on Andrea—physically and emotionally. Verbally and emotionally, he ran Andrea into the dirt with nearly every breath he drew in her presence. He might not hit her, but he’d left his share of bruises on her, and Carol didn’t believe that any of them had been welcomed or requested. His favorite thing to do was to belittle Andrea for her figure—pinching and pulling at everything he found that he thought was wrong with her—and everyone knew it was because the woman he was in love with, his best friend’s wife, was barely more than a scarecrow whereas Andrea was a much fuller figured woman.

They all hated Shane, but Andrea kept going back to him out of fear that she’d never find anyone else—fear that he’d planted there, over the years, to keep her close. 

Shane didn’t really want her, but it was clear that she was better than nothing. And that’s exactly how he treated her—just better than nothing.

“That’s why you’ve got to jump on this, Carol,” Andrea urged, not missing a beat in self-sorrow or self-pity. “You’ve got to carpe the damn diem or whatever and go to dinner Friday night.” 

“And if he’s not what you think he is?” Carol asked.

“It’s dinner,” Andrea said. “Not a marriage proposal. You eat food. You have a conversation. If you like him, maybe you eat with him again. If you don’t, then you lose nothing and you gain a meal.” 

“I’m concerned that—what happened Friday, and then coffee on Wednesday, and dinner on Friday night? Don’t you think this might be moving too fast?” Carol asked.

Andrea rolled her eyes, looking around her phone.

“Go as slow as you want,” Andrea said. “Crawl if you want. Let him know that. You don’t like fast, and you hate sudden movements. You wouldn’t know anything more about him, though, if you had dinner with him next week, than you’re going to know on Friday. I think that’s the point. That’s his point. Just—eat dinner. Find out about each other.” 

“I don’t know anything about him,” Carol said, shaking her head. “I mean—nothing. I don’t know this guy. He could be an axe murderer, for all I know.” 

Andrea laughed to herself.

“He doesn’t know you either, you know. Maybe he’s just Daryl Dixon,” Andrea said. “Long-time resident of Living Springs. He lives outside the city limits. Over on Willow Branch Road. He’s got a lot of land, enough for like four people, but he lives in a little trailer. He’s in his late forties. He lives with his brother, Merle Dixon, who’s ten years older than he is. He’s never been married, has no children, but has recently been talking about adopting a puppy since Mrs. Waller had those mutts that she was handing out for free down at the A and P. He likes hunting, fishing, and is a huge fan of routine and repetition. He’s good at most things that he tries to do.”

“Where is all this coming from?” Carol asked, laughing to herself.

Andrea smiled and turned the phone around. She raised her eyebrows. 

Carol laughed to herself.

“My reading glasses are behind the counter,” Carol said. “And you know I can’t see that from here. What is it?”

“It’s a text message,” Andrea said. “From Mich. I noticed his shirt when he came in. I’ve seen that shirt a billion times—maybe it didn’t say Daryl every time, but…how many times have I dropped something off for Ty’s lunch when Mich couldn’t get off work? So, I sent a text to Michonne to find out what she could. I expected it to take longer, but it turns out that she’s with Ty right now. She had to go pick up some files from the courthouse in Union, and he didn’t have anything pressing for the morning, so he decided to take off with her—get some breakfast and have a little morning date in Union without the girls hanging around.” 

“So, Tyreese is telling you all of this?” Carol asked.

“Tyreese is telling Mich all of this,” Andrea said. “And Mich is relaying it to me. You know Ty texts like a caveman. Listen—this guy has worked for Ty for over a decade. He’s a home to work kind of guy, most of the time. We’ve all probably crossed paths with him like a million times over the years without knowing it, Carol. Michonne says that Ty’s absolutely excited that you even ran into him, and he’s absolutely advocating for this guy.” Andrea put her phone on the table and folded her hands in front of her like she was about to tell Carol something very serious. “You know Ty’s a good guy. We’ve said, since Michonne met him, that— that he’s one of the few genuinely good guys left in the world.” 

Carol smiled to herself and nodded. Tyreese had won them all over quickly and completely. After the way that Dean had treated Michonne, she’d really deserved to find a man like Tyreese.

“Ty’s a good guy,” Carol agreed.

“And that good guy is telling you that—Daryl’s a good guy,” Andrea said. 

“It’s hard to believe that there’s such a concentration of good guys in such a small area of Living Springs,” Carol mused.

“You don’t believe Ty?” Andrea asked. “You’re suggesting that Tyreese Williams would ever lie to you, Carol? He adores you.”

“I’m suggesting that this is a friend of Tyreese’s. He works for him. And—Ty is his boss. He’s going to show a different face to his boss than he shows to everyone else. You know how that is. I mean—there were so many people who even said that I was lying about Ed because they didn’t know him to be like that. They’d never known him to be that way. Look at Shane…”

Andrea hummed and nodded. 

“But this is not about Ed,” Andrea said. “It’s not. And it’s not about Shane, and it’s not about Dean. This is just about—about Daryl. And it’s about dinner, Carol. When’s the last time you ate dinner with a man?” 

Carol looked around, checking out the café and gauging how busy it was getting. Andrea sighed across the table.

“That’s what I thought,” Andrea said. “You haven’t been out with anyone since Ed.” 

“That’s not true,” Carol said. “I had dinner with—what was his name? I’m always forgetting it. Works at the Home Depot.” 

Andrea laughed to herself. 

“Tobin doesn’t count,” Andrea said. “At all. I don’t even count him. He has the personality of wallpaper paste and he’s twice as bland.” 

“But safe,” Carol offered.

“That’s the only reason you went out with him,” Andrea said. “And the only reason we supported that choice was because we thought he might—he might be like human training wheels. He might get you riding again. But you can’t keep the training wheels forever, Carol. And you don’t need them. Besides—you didn’t even like Tobin. That’s why you never go out with him.” 

Carol laughed to herself. 

“He’s perfectly wonderful,” Carol teased. “In fact—if I ever feel like I’m just not going to be able to sleep, I could call him. He’d put me out, just like a light.” 

“That’s only a good thing when the sex is so good you pass out afterwards,” Andrea said. “Not when—not when the conversation is so fucking boring that you prefer a state of unconsciousness to having to endure even one more boring ass word about why a certain brand of Kilz is really worth the extra money if you’re serious about redoing your deck.” 

Carol laughed to herself, and maybe in spite of herself. As she settled on the fact that she would, in fact, accept the invitation to dinner, the fluttering in her stomach rose up again.

“I’ll give him a call at lunch,” Carol said. 

“Jesus, Tobin? What the hell have I done?” Andrea lamented. Carol laughed.

“Daryl,” Carol said. Andrea’s demeanor and expression changed entirely. She sat up and ran her fingers through her hair like she was set on preparing herself for a date. 

“Yeah?” She asked. “Dinner?” 

“I’ll—tell him I’ll go to dinner,” Carol agreed. “I’ll give him a—a chance. To show me what he’s like.”

Andrea clapped her hands together in excitement before she snatched up her phone. 

“I’ve got to tell Mich, so she can tell Tyreese!” Andrea declared.

“Please tell him not to say anything!” Carol said, her face suddenly growing warm and the uncomfortable feeling in her gut intensifying.

Andrea smiled at her.

“No worries,” Andrea said. “Nobody would dream of stealing your thunder. Just don’t forget that you’ve got something to do over lunch. I have a feeling that—this is the kind of guy who’ll be waiting for that confirmation.”


	9. Chapter 9

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“Blue or green, Merle?” Daryl asked. He surprised himself when he heard how he practically snarled the words at his older brother. Merle laughed to himself and helped himself to a cigarette from Daryl’s bedside table. 

“That green’s a real nice color,” Merle said. “But the blue brings out your eyes, I don’t give a shit what nobody says.” 

“Asshole,” Daryl snapped back. Merle laughed to himself.

“What the fuck you want me to say, brother?” Merle asked. “I ain’t no fashion designer.”

“I’ma wear the blue,” Daryl said. Merle laughed again. “The fuck is your problem, Merle? You followed my ass in here just to hover around me and laugh at me? Go back out there an’ do what you was doin’ ‘fore you got bored enough to come fuck with me.” 

“Easy brother,” Merle offered. “I ain’t come to fuck with you. I ain’t fuckin’ with you now. You just wound up tight as a snare drum monkey, and you determined that the damn breeze from the vents is fuckin’ with you—which it ain’t, ‘fore you go gettin’ any ideas.” 

Daryl willed himself to be mindful of the tension in his body. Merle might not be wrong. He could feel a good bit there, and he released some of it as it drew up his shoulder muscles. He slipped into the button-down shirt—one of about three that he could count as “nice” for anything that might arise that warranted wearing such a thing. He worked the buttons and willed his fingers not to be tight, shaky, or otherwise unpredictable. The jeans he was wearing were his newest pair, also designated his “nice” jeans, and they were saved for special occasions.

This was a special occasion, because Carol had agreed to dinner with him. 

“You ain’t told me shit about your woman,” Merle said. “Been shut up like a clam. I ain’t seen you go on a date in…Daryl when was the last damn time your ass went on a date?” 

“Long damn time, Merle. Somewhere not too long after the fall of Rome, if I remember correctly,” Daryl said. He went to the closet and stared at his belts. He had four of them: two black and two brown. One set was new, one set was old. When he had to rotate the new into the old, he’d replace them. He had already decided on wearing brown boots, so he pulled the brown belt down to match them.

“Well? Tell me about her,” Merle pressed. “It ain’t everyday I see my brother gettin’ all dolled up for some woman.” 

“Her name’s Carol,” Daryl said. “I already told you that. And Tyreese says her last name’s McAlister ‘cause she went back to it after she divorced her asshole husband. Ty didn’t tell me much else about her.” 

“She had an asshole husband?” Merle asked.

“Ain’t that what I just said?” Daryl asked. 

“Don’t gotta be an asshole, yourself, Daryl,” Merle offered. “What’s she look like?” 

“Pretty little thing,” Daryl said.

“You said pretty about a dozen times, but you ain’t said shit else. Little—like how little?” Merle asked.

“Like tiny little thing,” Daryl said.

“Like things look like they in the right places an’ padded up, brother? Or like she’s some kinda skeleton woman all sharp edges an’ shit?” Merle asked. “You don’t wanna slip an’ get cleaved in two by a fuckin’ hipbone.”

Daryl laughed to himself. It was the first moment he was happy to have Merle hovering around him like a high school girl. The laughter made him feel better, and the knots in his stomach found it hard to remain tangled while he laughed at his brother.

“She’s filled out all right,” Daryl said. “I just mean—you know—she’s kinda delicate lookin’. But I guess I done been there once, and she didn’t break.” 

“But you don’t hardly remember shit about it,” Merle offered.

“I remember enough to know I wouldn’t mind some more,” Daryl offered. He sat down on the edge of the bed, dragging his boots and socks with him, and went to work putting them on. 

“What else you gonna tell me about her? What’s she look like? Details, brother. Not just pretty an’ leave that shit at that.” Daryl smiled to himself. Merle snorted. “I see that shit eatin’ grin from over here. That damn good?” 

“She’s pretty,” Daryl said. 

“So you been sayin’,” Merle mused. “Long or short hair?” 

“Short,” Daryl said. “Natural. Gray. That’s one thing about her. Everything about her’s just kinda natural. She weren’t all painted up. You know like some kinda rodeo clown.” 

“Better that way,” Merle mused. “Get you a woman painted up like some of ‘em come? It’s like one of them plastic eggs in the supermarket. You don’t know what the fuck you gonna get, but you got a good feelin’ it ain’t worth the quarter you gonna spend. Go your ass to bed with Goldilocks an’ wake up with the Big Bad Wolf.” 

“I think you crossin’ your stories there, Merle,” Daryl offered.

“Don’t matter, you know what the hell I’m sayin’,” Merle said. Daryl hummed to confirm that he did understand his brother’s mixed metaphor. “She got a nice ass? Good tits?” 

“From what the hell I can tell and remember,” Daryl said. “Memory’s fuzzy, but I don’t remember nothin’ just knockin’ me back as not right. At the coffee shop she weren’t hardly standin’ up none, and my mind was buzzin’ about a mile a minute with everything so—I just didn’t really notice that much. She’s got some pretty ass eyes, though. Real blue. And I liked her smile—her nose. Hell, I was fond of her face, to tell you the truth.” 

Merle snorted. 

“You ought not to lead with that, brother,” Merle offered. “Ever. You go pick this woman up an’ you just like ‘I like your face,’ an’ she’s gonna turn around and go right back in her house. There’s like a ninety percent chance it don’t work later neither. She’s askin’ you to talk dirty to her ass or somethin’ and your dumb ass blurts out some shit like—‘Sugar, I just love your face,’ an’ there’s a real good chance she don’t fuck you.” 

“Shut up, asshole,” Daryl said, laughing to himself. 

“You really liked her, didn’t you?” Merle asked. 

“Yeah,” Daryl said. He got up and went into his little bathroom he ran the sink water to let it reach the temperature he preferred it to be at when he cleaned up the hair on his face. He didn’t want to look too scraggly for his date, and he figured that Carol might be the kind of woman who noticed things like the fact that he hadn’t done anything to shape his facial hair up in a while. 

“Hell—you got to,” Merle offered. “What time you said you was pickin’ her up?” 

“Her house at seven,” Daryl said. “She ain’t wanted to be rushed ‘cause she was closin’ up her coffee shop an’ all.” 

“You can calm down, brother,” Merle offered. “If she don’t live in Atlanta, you gonna make on time. You got plenty of time.” 

Daryl didn’t know why he was so nervous, really. Maybe it was simply owing to the fact that he did genuinely like the woman. His memory of the time at the bar was fuzzy, but flashes of it kept coming back to him. Mostly what he remembered was that he smiled a lot—he smiled more than he could remember smiling in a long damn time. And she smiled a lot. Maybe that was why he’d smiled so much. Maybe it was contagious. 

Flashes of that night came rolling back to him, too. Snatches, here and there, like putting together a Picasso painting, burned through his mind. Some of it made his cheeks burn hot, and he wouldn’t dare to share it with his brother. He could remember a perfect nipple, and the way it felt under his tongue. He could remember that she’d had the silkiest feeling pussy he’d ever encountered—not that he’d really had a great deal to compare it to, and not that he hadn’t been out of commission so long that he very well might have simply forgotten what a pussy felt like. In his mind, he could hear her sweet little sounds of satisfaction. They were terrible memories to have, maybe, of a woman who clearly wanted him to forget the night entirely, but they were pretty good memories to Daryl. 

Seeing Carol at the coffee shop had jolted Daryl’s memories into drawing up more from wherever his drunk mind had locked them.

Carol had been prettier, in the coffee shop, than he’d remembered, though. She’d been shyer, and a great deal more nervous, but he was also a great deal more nervous than he’d been after quite a few drinks, so he was willing to forgive her for that. 

More than her looks, though, there had been something else—something he didn’t want to mention to Merle because he wasn’t in the mood to have his brother rag his ass until he had to leave to go and pick Carol up. There had been something about her that had almost seemed soothing. Being in her presence, even though he’d been nervous, had had a strange calming effect on him, like looking at water. He’d been nervous that she’d ask him to leave. He’d been nervous that she’d tell him she didn’t want him to call again. He’d been nervous that she’d say she didn’t want to have dinner. All of those things, though, meant that he was nervous to be banished from her presence. He was nervous to never see her again.

Carol, herself, hadn’t made him nervous at all. Quite the opposite. 

“Where you takin’ her?” Merle asked.

“Huh?” Daryl asked.

“Dinner,” Merle said. “Where you takin’ her?” 

“She said she ain’t wanted to pick,” Daryl said. He wiped his face, after finishing his shaving, and patted it dry with a towel before he dabbed on some aftershave that wouldn’t clash with the nice cologne that he saved for things like weddings and funerals. “I’ve been textin’ with her since Wednesday, at the café? She won’t say what, but she just says it’s a thing for her. She don’t like to pick. Won’t pick. Hell—she said if I tried to make her pick, I could forget the whole damned thing.” Daryl laughed to himself. “So, I figured it was the first time out and all, so I’d take her somewhere she could have about any damned thing she wants, and then I’d know a bit better what she likes by the time we leave.” 

“You already plannin’ a lotta dates, there, brother,” Merle said.

“Not plannin’ ‘em,” Daryl offered. “Just—not closin’ the door on the possibility.”

His stomach practically quivered at his own words. It felt like his internal organs were suddenly made of Jell-O. It was, at the moment, like his thoughts had really hit his brain for the first time. His whole body realized, all at once, that he was doing this—maybe without fully consulting even himself. He wasn’t planning all these dates—not down to the hour—but he was thinking ahead. Daryl had often thought ahead about some kind of fantasy life he planned on leading, that much was true, but he’d never thought ahead when it came to his actual life. The life in his fantasies, after all, didn’t much match the life he was living. And, even when he’d been out with some woman in the past, he’d never found her to be one that he was planning on seeing a second time or a third.

There was something different about a woman that had his stomach going nuts and had him thinking about how he could find out what she might want to eat the best if she refused to tell him.

Merle said something that Daryl missed, and Daryl hummed to himself, coming back into the conversation.

“What’cha say?” Daryl asked, dampening his hair from where it had dried too much from the shower. He brushed it, choosing for himself which way it ought to lay down.

“You didn’t say where you was goin’, though,” Merle said. “Lotta damn places give you choices.”

“Charlie’s,” Daryl said. “Good food, and a hell of a lot of choices.” 

“That’s easy a twenty-minute drive,” Merle offered. “What if you find out you don’t got shit to say to each other?” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“I like silence as much as I like conversation,” Daryl offered. “I’ll survive. Still—the drive was part of the appeal to Charlie’s.” 

“Just let me give you a word to the wise, brother,” Merle offered.

Daryl rolled his eyes. He shoved his toothbrush into his mouth and started scrubbing at his teeth. Merle couldn’t see his eye roll, and it didn’t matter anyway, so he simply hummed to let his brother know that he could spout his supposed wisdom as much as he liked—at least until Daryl had to walk out the door. Daryl leaned against the bathroom doorjamb and watched his brother while he brushed his teeth.

“You watch how she eats,” Merle said. “I’m serious. I ain’t yankin’ your ass around. You’ll be able to tell a lot about her ass by how the hell she eats. She’s too damn fussy eatin’? Got some long ass laundry list of what she will an’ won’t eat an’ how it’s gotta be? She’s gonna be too damn fussy everywhere else. And you don’t want you no—eat a piece of lettuce an’ done rabbit woman, neither. First of all, it’s bullshit that’cha pay for the gas an’ the meal an’ she don’t eat it. Second—you mark my word, brother. A woman that don’t like to eat good, don’t like to fuck good.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. He finished brushing his teeth, and he rinsed his mouth with mouthwash before he washed out the sink. 

“Yeah, well, she was alright with fuckin’ last week,” Daryl said. 

“Drunk,” Merle said. “But if you talkin’ about some chain of dates, brother, you gonna wanna see what she’s got when she ain’t drunk. I’m tellin’ you. Watch how she eats.”

Daryl stuffed his wallet into his back pocket. He raked his loose change, pocket knife, and keys off the dresser where he’d deposited them earlier and, catching them in his palm, he shoved them into his pocket. He pointed toward Merle, as he approached him, and Merle read his mind enough to offer the cigarettes and lighter from the bedside table. 

“I gotta go,” Daryl said. 

Merle smiled at him and stood up. It was a sincere smile, this time. Not the shit eating grin from before. Merle walked over and smoothed Daryl’s collar. He hummed at him before he patted his shoulder roughly and squeezed his shoulder.

“You gonna be a half hour early, boy,” Merle offered.

“Rather be late than early,” Daryl said. “I’ll smoke a cigarette in the truck—block from her house.” 

Merle laughed to himself. He nodded his head.

“What you gonna do?” Daryl asked, realizing he ought to at least show some concern for his brother’s evening.

“Don’t’cha worry about me,” Merle said. “Might order pizza an’ watch the television. Might—get dressed an’ go down to Salty’s. See if I can’t get my dick wet.” Merle smirked at him and winked. “You don’t worry about me, brother. I know how to keep my own ass busy. Listen, Daryl—I hope your woman’s a good eater. Healthy appetite. Not too damned fussy. An’ you can find some shit to talk about for a forty-minute, round-trip drive an’ a meal to boot.” Daryl smiled to himself and nodded, his stomach tangling around itself again. “Hope your date goes right, brother,” Merle added. “Just the damn way you wantin’ it too.” 

Daryl smiled to himself. It was seldom that Merle was entirely sincere, but he appreciated it when he was.

“Me too, brother,” Daryl offered. “Me, too.”


	10. Chapter 10

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl’s blue shirt brought out his eyes. Carol noticed his eyes every time he flicked them in her direction. His face never moved from looking at the menu like he was intently reading every possible food choice there was, but his eyes kept flicking toward Carol as she sat across the table from him.

She smiled at him every time their eyes met and he caught her looking at him as surely as he was looking at her. 

It was evident that he’d put some care into his appearance. He was clean and well-groomed. His outfit seemed better put together, perhaps, than she might have expected—though she could admit it might not be fair to assume that Daryl, simply given his trade and status as a bachelor, wouldn’t take pride in his date-night appearance.

The very thought that they were on a date made Carol’s insides feel a little like Jell-O. She found herself smiling, in spite of any nerves she might feel, every time she caught Daryl’s eye.

In addition to his appearance, he smelled good, too. He smelled almost good enough to eat, and Carol was ashamed of the fact that something primitive in her body wanted her to get close to him so that she could simply continue to smell him. 

She was thankful that he couldn’t read minds.

He had been very polite, so far. He was punctual. He’d picked her up at her house—she’d provided him the address—and he’d rung the doorbell at exactly the moment she’d told him she’d be ready. He’d complimented her appearance, and he’d gone a step beyond simply saying that she “looked nice” to tell her, specifically, that he thought the brown and turquoise dress she’d chosen for the evening was “pretty,” and he’d gone so far as to comment that he liked “Earthy tones.” 

Carol had asked him if he was interested in fashion, but he’d only looked at her sideways, laughed to himself, and said that he didn’t care that much about fashion, but he was fond of colors, just the same. In particular, he liked the colors that were most commonly found in nature.

He’d asked her, once more, if she’d changed her mind about choosing where they had dinner and, when she said that she’d meant what she said, and would enjoy the whole experience more if he didn’t ask her to choose, he’d opened the door to his truck for her and offered her an arm in case she should need a hand getting in. 

During the twenty-minute drive to the place that he’d chosen—an average little restaurant that was neither too formal nor too informal—they’d really gotten through only some awkward and pressed attempts at small talk. They’d covered how the day had gone for each of them. Carol had thrown out an anecdote or two about the coffee shop, and Daryl had told her a couple of stories surrounding his attempts to make repairs at a house and to obtain the parts that he needed to make those repairs.

A lot of the ride they’d spent in a slightly uncomfortable silence. Admittedly, Carol had spent a great deal of the ride wondering what she might say—what he might be interested in hearing, or what he might find unimportant and a waste of his time—and she wondered if Daryl had felt equally as nervous as she had to toss out more information.

By the time they were settled at the restaurant table, though, Carol was feeling more relaxed.

She was feeling more relaxed, perhaps, because she could see in Daryl’s features that he was nervous. She didn’t like for anyone to suffer from anxiety, really, but it did make her feel a bit more confident to believe that they were on somewhat equal footing—at least in the fact that neither of them was absolutely certain how the evening would, or even should, go.

Catching Daryl tossing glances at her, also, did something to relieve some of Carol’s concerns. The smiles they exchanged when they caught each other looking, and the blush of pink that came to Daryl’s cheeks to think he’d been caught, made Carol simply feel more relaxed.

Still, she’d ordered water without even thinking about what she might want to drink, and she found that she couldn’t focus on the menu in front of her. It might as well have been written in Sanskrit. At the rate she was going, she would have to rely on the pictures to order anything.

“I’ve never been here,” Carol said.

“Come here a lot with my brother,” Daryl said. 

“Is the food that good?” Carol asked.

“Pretty good,” Daryl confirmed. “Mostly there’s a lot of variety. That means that—if I’m in the mood for one thing and he’s in the mood for somethin’ else entirely? We can still eat here without too much trouble.” 

Carol smiled to herself at the sentiment. She flipped a few pages, pretending that she’d paid some attention to what the menu was presenting to her.

“What’s good here?” She asked.

Daryl hummed.

“A lot depends on what you kinda in the mood for,” Daryl said. “Pasta, burger, salad, Mexican…you got any idea what you might kinda want?” 

“I love pasta,” Carol mused. “But—I might be in the mood for Mexican.” 

“If you’re wantin’ Mexican here, then it’s the tacos you want,” Daryl said. Carol smiled at how quickly and confidently he answered.

“Yeah?” 

“I mean the fajitas are pretty good,” Daryl said. “Merle likes those. You might want those, but…I’d get the tacos. Steak or chicken, but…really the steak.” 

Carol nodded her head. 

“You’ve sold me on it,” she said. 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“I’m not tryin’ to tell you what you gotta eat,” he said.

“No,” Carol said. “I didn’t think you were. Honestly. I think you’re just—giving me your honest recommendation. And it sounds good to me, so I’m going to take it.”

“They come in three or five,” Daryl said. “Honestly—I’d get the five. Three’s not bad if you’re just a lil’ bit hungry or you already eat, but I’d eat the five if I were you. I usually order a side to go with it, too. Depends on how hungry you are.” 

“What are you getting?” Carol asked. 

Daryl closed his menu and rested it on the table. 

“Got a question for you, first,” Daryl said. “Confession, maybe. And a question.” 

There was nothing in his words that told her that she should smile. There was nothing that he said that made her feel like this was about to be something she would enjoy hearing. Yet Carol’s body responded naturally to Daryl’s body language, and she folded her own menu and leaned into the table. She caught herself smiling, already imagining what he might share with her. 

“I haven’t been on a date since—longer’n I kept track of,” Daryl said. “That’s my confession.” 

“And what’s your question?” Carol asked.

“I’m really in the mood for these sweet, hot barbecue wings they’ve got here,” Daryl said. “But they’re the kind of meal that comes with wet washcloths to keep you from makin’ a mess all over yourself—and sometimes I still manage to fuck it up.” He cleared his throat. “Is that the kind of thing that—that’cha frown on during a first date?” 

Carol’s heart beat a little wildly. Its manner of behaving was entirely out of line for a simple conversation about messy wings as suitable fare for a first date. 

“I think that—it’s acceptable to have whatever you want to eat,” Carol said. “You’re not going to mind if I eat five tacos, are you?” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Why would I mind?” He asked. “You sure you just want water, though? They got all kinds of drinks here. Daquiris, margaritas, beer.” 

He illustrated the latter by holding up his own beer.

“I haven’t had a daquiri in ages,” Carol mused.

“You oughta get one,” Daryl said. “You like spinach and artichoke dip? We can split some while we waitin’ on the food.” 

“Are you trying to fatten me up?” Carol asked.

Daryl furrowed his brow at her, but quickly wiped away the expression.

“It’s a date,” he said. “We oughta—what do they say? Eat, drink, and be merry.” 

Carol smiled to herself.

“And then—do I eat all of this and…you go home and tell your brother what a pig I am?” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“You got no worries about that,” he said. “But if you don’t want it, we don’t gotta have it.” 

Carol felt like he was sincere. She wanted to believe that he was—that he wasn’t going to judge her the way that Ed might have and the way that Shane always did when any of them ate in his presence.

“I’ll split the dip,” Carol said. “But—only if you split some dessert with me at the end.” 

Daryl smiled at the challenge.

“Deal,” he offered. He got their waiter’s attention—which wasn’t hard to do since the young man had been somewhat hovering since they’d sent him away the last two times. They’d barely ordered before Carol’s daquiri came, followed by an appetizer that could have been a meal for two.

The dip was cheesy and delicious. Almost immediately, Carol could feel something like a cloud of carb happiness settle over her. In addition, there was truly no look of judgement on Daryl’s face. He asked her how she liked the food, and he asked her how she liked her drink, but his concern seemed to truly be only about whether or not she was enjoying herself.

She felt herself slip, a bit more, into a relaxed state.

“You just have one brother?” Carol asked.

Daryl hummed.

“If you knew Merle,” he mused, “then you’d know that one’s enough. What about you? That woman at the café—was she your friend or sister…or?” 

“Andrea?” Carol asked. She laughed to herself. Daryl nodded and shrugged at the same time. 

“I guess that’s her,” he offered. 

“Andrea,” Carol confirmed. “And I’m sorry about that.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Daryl said. “Hell—I don’t care. She’s your…?”

“Friend,” Carol said. “Friend. One of my best friends. Maybe she’s—she might actually be my very best friend.” 

Daryl smiled to himself.

“You got any siblings?” He asked.

“I’m the last one standing,” Carol said. “I don’t even have any family. Not—I mean—I’ve got some cousins and such, but nobody I’m close to. I really got separated from all of my family a long time ago. My biological family. When I married my husband, that really put distance between me and everyone. Then it was like…they were either all gone or I never made the move to try to cross the space back.” Here stomach twisted and her heart fluttered when she noticed the concerned expression on his face. “Shit,” she muttered. “So much for light dinner conversation. You didn’t sign up for that.” 

“No, don’t worry about it,” Daryl said quickly. “I didn’t sign up for anything in particular. Wanted to get to know you, right? Share a meal with you. I didn’t say the whole damned thing had to be sunshine and puppy dog tails. Is that what you’d be expectin’ of me?” 

Carol shook her head. 

“Not if that’s—not if it’s not what we’re talking about,” Carol said.

“So, you don’t have biological family,” Daryl said with a shrug. “So, me an’ Merle’s the last left of our family. If I got cousins, I don’t even know ‘em. So—maybe I get it, you know?” 

“My friends are my family now,” Carol said.

“Friends are good to have,” Daryl mused. “You mentioned your husband. But you ain’t married now.” 

“Divorced,” Carol said. “Ironically, the divorce was the best thing to ever happen to me.” 

“You seein’ anybody else?” Daryl asked.

“Outside of this date? I’m like you said…I can’t remember the last time I went on a date,” Carol said. “I really stay busy with the café. I’ve got my friends. I’m always trying out little hobbies, and I love new little adventures. I haven’t really had time for dating.” 

“You ain’t had time for it, or you ain’t found…someone you wanted to date?” Daryl asked.

Carol tasted her daquiri. He seemed to genuinely care what she might say. On the other hand, she wondered how much of his curiosity was driven by his concern over whether or not there would be another date—and how much of that interest really only had to do with whether or not there would be something physical, again, between them. 

“Maybe a little of both,” Carol said, careful not to land too hard on either side of the line. “What about you?” 

“That one’s easy,” Daryl said. “I got the time. But—I guess my brother would describe it best by sayin’ that…I’m kind of picky.” 

“Picky, how?” Carol asked.

Daryl smiled at her. He raised his eyebrows, and then he turned more attention to his dip covered chip than the food really merited. 

“I don’t like playin’ games,” Daryl said. “And I don’t like—wastin’ people’s time or havin’ people waste mine. I guess…I’m not interested in just anybody. I’m only interested in the right woman.” 

Carol laughed to herself. There was a certain amount of confidence in Daryl’s words, but there was something else there, too, that she couldn’t quite name. It almost sounded like anxiety, in one way, and melancholy in another.

“How will you know if she’s the right woman?” Carol asked.

“I just believe that’s the kind of thing that you just know,” Daryl said. “In your gut. It’s like—a natural thing that you know. But there’s a catch.”

“What’s the catch?” Carol asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders. He slid the chip basket, with the tip of his finger, in her direction—prompting her to eat more. Feeding her, really, in his own way. Carol accepted a chip, and loaded it with dip, entirely without apology.

“It’s like everything else in nature,” Daryl said. “You gotta really be listenin’, and you gotta trust it—even if you sometimes know you’re just about blind and runnin’ on nothin’ but pure damn instinct.”


	11. Chapter 11

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“What the fuck are you doing, Andrea?” Andrea mumbled to herself as she looked around Salty’s. She laughed to herself, drank down some of her beer, and pulled the menu down from its perch on the metal rings of the napkin holder to look at food that she didn’t dare to eat at nine at night.

Just because Carol came to Salty’s on a Friday night and left with something worth daydreaming about, it didn’t mean that Andrea was going to do the same. There were fundamental differences between Carol and Andrea and, besides that, it was entirely likely that Carol plucked the last remaining decent guy out of the proverbial pond—a fucking unicorn of good guys—when she’d been here.

She was on a date with him right now, and Andrea kept her phone close by. She turned it over every three to five minutes to check and make sure she hadn’t missed a call. She was afraid that the music—Jimmy Buffett, for at least a while, which was not at all objectionable—was too loud for her to hear the tinny ringtone. She was Carol’s backup. If she needed an out, she was just supposed to call Andrea, and Andrea would call back with an emergency—something that had to be addressed immediately—so that Carol could leave without trying to fabricate something on her own. Andrea was fully prepared to be put on speaker phone and to wail and cry enough to convince even the most discerning audiences.

But, in the meantime, she figured she might as well entertain herself down at Salty’s. She could pretend that she hadn’t come down there to drop a proverbial hook in the water, but it wasn’t every day she bothered with a pushup bra.

Andrea typed out a quick message to Carol—a regular request for some kind of update. She wanted to know how the date was going. She hoped it was going well, but you never could tell about that kind of thing. Carol, like most people, and Andrea would often include herself in the lineup, had a way of shooting herself in the foot sometimes. Carol hadn’t been on a date, really, since Ed. She usually managed to run off any man that was even remotely interested in her before he’d really even settled in good on the possibility of a date.

Andrea sighed after she sent the message, determined that no news was good news, and took in her surroundings. 

Andrea wouldn’t mind finding a man, for herself, that was at least a little like the man that Carol had found. The man that Carol had met was ruggedly good looking. Andrea liked that, too. She liked a little rough around the edges on a man. He’d had a crooked smile. Andrea liked those, too. A crooked smile, in Andrea’s experience, usually came with a wicked sense of humor. 

There were four things that made up the base of Andrea’s dream man – rugged enough to make her feel like he was a real man’s man, kind in an unexpected gestures kind of way, good in bed, and a wickedly good sense of humor. 

At the moment, in life, Andrea was batting about a .5 out of 4. Shane was decent in bed. The biggest problem with Shane was that Shane was more impressed with his sexual abilities than Andrea was and, most of the time, Andrea got the feeling that Shane would have had a better time if he was able to simply fuck himself. 

Shane was also—and had always been—in love with Lori Grimes. She was somewhat unhappily married to Shane’s partner on the police force, and she dragged Shane around like a dog on a leash. She liked keeping him on a string. She liked the security of having somewhere to go in case she ever got tired of bossing around her whipped dog of a husband.

And Andrea had never been under the impression that she was anything more than “good enough” for Shane in the absence of Lori. Still, the reality around Living Springs, Georgia, at least for Andrea Harrison, was that Shane was the only man who was both interested in Andrea, and interested in staying for more than one night—even if he was half out the bed the whole time. 

The crew at Salty’s didn’t seem too much different than the last time that Andrea had been there. She’d found nothing that night, either, and she felt foolish for thinking that tonight would somehow be magical because Carol had come home talking about the unicorn she’d found hanging around a week ago. 

Andrea checked her phone again and frowned at her drink. She had beer, but if they were going to play Jimmy Buffett all night, she wished she’d ordered something fruity. She considered something fruity as a second drink, and checked her phone, once more, to make sure that she hadn’t forgotten to look at it the last time she’d looked at it. Carol must be having a decent enough time. She hadn’t responded to Andrea’s message. Andrea picked the menu up again, and lusted after the cheesy foods that she didn’t dare to eat when Shane would just compare her fat ass to the bony one that belonged to the practically skeletal woman that had held his attention for nearly two decades.

“What’s your pleasure, Sugar?” 

Andrea looked up, hearing the voice near her, and looked around. It took her a moment, once her eyes settled on the man standing next to her table, to realize that he was talking to her. She decided to check, just to be sure. 

“You’re talking to me?” 

He laughed to himself. 

“Unless you got a ghost at this here table,” the man said. “Merle.”

“Andrea,” Andrea offered.

“Anybody ever tell you that you look like Farrah Fawcett?” Merle asked. 

Andrea smiled in spite of herself. It was such an odd thing to say, and it wasn’t at all true, but it was strangely flattering the way the man said it.

“No,” Andrea said. “Is that…what is that? A pickup line?” 

“You call it what you want,” Merle said with a shrug. “I just considered it a question. Look—I don’t beat around the fuckin’ bush too much, unless you like that kinda thing. I been watchin’ you—on account of you look like Farrah Fawcett to me—and I can’t help but notice you keep lookin’ at your phone.” 

Andrea picked up her phone strictly out of the power of suggestion. She looked at it, but there was still no message from Carol and no missed call.

“I don’t mean to burst your bubble,” Merle continued, “but I don’t think he’s comin’.” 

“It’s not a man,” Andrea said, still caught off guard by the bizarre nature of the exchange that was taking place. 

Merle sat down, and he smiled to himself. 

He had a crooked smile. He had blue eyes and close-cropped curly hair. And there was something oddly rough and rugged about his features—he was a man who hadn’t spent most of his life protected from the elements by an office or, for that matter, by a squad car.

And he’d invited himself into the seat across from Andrea. 

“So if it ain’t no man,” Merle mused, holding Andrea’s eyes with his own in a way that was almost unnerving, “and I ain’t seen you talkin’ to no man here, Sugar, then tell me this: what exactly is a sweet lil’ thing like you doin’ here on a Friday night, alone?” 

Andrea bit the inside of her mouth to lessen the smile that naturally crept across her lips. She didn’t want to appear too flattered by the mystery man named Merle that had invited himself to sit across from her. 

“Having a drink” she said. “Listening to Buffett.” 

He laughed to himself. Smirked. Looked upward like he might actually see the music being piped in through the speakers. 

“They’re playin’ your song,” Merle said. Andrea raised her eyebrows at him in question. He winked at her, quickly. “Hey, Good Lookin’,” he mused.

Andrea felt her face grow warm. She was almost ashamed of herself. She could count on one hand, though, the number of compliments a man had given her in the past five or so years, and she was pretty sure that it didn’t come out to one a year—not even for her birthday. She cleared her throat.

“Not my favorite song,” she said. 

“Mind if I smoke?” Merle asked, dragging the black plastic ashtray near him. Andrea shook her head. He shook out a cigarette and offered one to her. 

“I shouldn’t,” she said.

“It’s Friday night, Sugar,” Merle offered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Andrea asked, laughing to herself.

“There ain’t no should or shouldn’t bullshit on Friday night,” Merle said. “It’s all about—what the hell feels good. What’cha drinkin’ Miss Andrea?” 

“I have beer,” she said.

“But that ain’t what you want,” Merle said. “Because your eyes say you ain’t happy with your choice. If you don’t mind me sayin’, you got beautiful eyes, Sugar, but they say you ain’t been happy about a lotta things. Take the cigarette when you want it. I’ma put the pack between us. And tell ole Merle what’cha’d rather be drinkin’.” 

Andrea’s heart was pounding in her chest and she felt more lightheaded than a half a beer ever should have made her feel. She felt ridiculous, but she couldn’t help it. She glanced around, half-expecting to see someone there, watching her and elbowing someone else, as they let it be known that they’d put Merle up to this. Nobody was paying them any attention, though, except for the waiter that was rushing toward them in his Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, and boat shoes—the uniform of Salty’s—to answer Merle’s request, made by raising his hand, to come take an order.

“What can I get you?” He asked. He was an eager young man, probably in his early-twenties. 

“I want a beer,” Merle said. “Light. To chase the shot of whiskey you’re gonna bring me, too. And for the beautiful fuckin’ lady I got sittin’ across from me…tell him, Sugar, what’cha want.” 

Andrea almost wanted to scream at the thundering of her own heart and the fact that her body was reacting entirely without her permission. 

“A Tipsy Tuesday,” Andrea said. “Extra grenadine and extra cherries.” 

“Yes ma’am,” the boy said, writing down their order. “Can I get you something to snack on?” 

“All that booze,” Merle mused, “gotta have some shit to dry it up. What’s good to you, Sugar?” 

“I can’t,” Andrea said, shaking her head at him. 

“You allergic to the whole damn menu?” Merle asked. 

Andrea shook her head. 

“It’s so fattening,” Andrea said.

“That’s the whole damn point, Sweetheart,” Merle said. “Soaks up the booze. Good for ya. Nachos. Loaded. An’ don’t’cha skimp on the toppings, neither. Put that green stuff on there, too. You can add the fifty cent to my tab.”

“Yes, sir,” the waiter said. He practically skipped away to put in the order, obviously deciding that Merle was going to tip him more than Andrea would have when she’d been by herself, nursing a beer for the better part of the evening. 

“I shouldn’t be eating that kind of thing,” Andrea said. “It’s late and it’s all going to go straight to my hips and ass. I’ll gain five pounds before morning.” 

Merle laughed to himself and drained what was left of his beer before he reached for Andrea’s sweating and mostly forgotten beer. Without asking, he set in to finish it, leaving her open to the fruity drink that would be arriving within minutes. He winked at Andrea when he caught her looking at him.

“Sounds to me like you plannin’ on sendin’ it all to the right place, Sugar,” Merle drawled. “Calories don’t count on Friday night no damn way.” 

“That might be true for you,” Andrea mused.

“You got a real hang up about it, don’t you?” Merle mused sincerely. 

“Forget it,” Andrea said. 

Merle hummed at her. 

“I might drop it,” Merle said. “But I ain’t gonna forget it. I got a mind like an elephant. If it matters to me…” 

Andrea flipped her phone over. 

“And why would it matter to you, Merle?” Andrea asked. 

“You wanna snatch them claws back in?” Merle asked. “Or I done somethin’ to piss you off?” 

Andrea realized she’d tensed considerably. She willed herself to relax. 

“I’m sorry,” she breathed out, sitting back in the booth. She took the cigarette from the pack that Merle had left in the middle of the table for her, like he’d said he would, and he offered her a light the moment she touched it to her lips. “Thank you,” she said. “That wasn’t—about you.” 

“You wanna talk about it?” Merle asked.

“Not particularly,” Andrea offered. She looked at her phone again.

“Suits me fine,” Merle said. “Ain’t no need to fuck with the ambiance. Pardon me for askin’, Sugar, but you got some place you’d rather be or…you wishin’ I’d fuck off?” Andrea raised an eyebrow in question. “It’s just that you keep lookin’ at your phone like you’re seekin’ better company. Startin’ to hurt the like three feelin’s I got left.” 

Andrea smiled to herself, both at Merle’s concern and the message that popped up telling her that all was well. She sent back a quick emoji and put her phone back on the table.

“No,” Andrea said. “I’ve got a friend. She’s on a date with a new guy and…”

“She might need you to bail her out,” Merle said. “Don’t look so surprised. Hell—every man knows about them messages and phone calls. You lookin’ for one of your own?” 

The waiter interrupted them. He put down food and drinks, cleared away the empty bottles, and disappeared. Merle pushed the nacho plate toward Andrea, and she smiled to herself.

“I think everything’s going all right,” she offered. “Do you need a rescue?” 

“I’m doin’ just fine. Just fuckin’ fine. Don’t you worry about me,” Merle offered. “Eat these nachos, now. I done told your ass that calories don’t count on Friday night. I got a certain kinda magic that makes it so.” 

Andrea smiled to herself.

“I think you’ve got a load of horse shit is what I think you’ve got,” Andrea mused.

Merle found that funny. He clearly wasn’t overly sensitive or easily offended. He could dish out shit—that much was obvious—but he seemed able to take it, and to be called on it, without resulting to a show of extreme anger. 

“What’s your favorite?” Merle asked. Andrea hummed in question. “Jimmy Buffett song.”

“Do you really care?” Andrea asked.

“No offense, Sugar, but I ain’t in the fuckin’ habit of askin’ questions I don’t care to have answered.”

“Come Monday,” Andrea said. 

“Why?” Merle asked. Andrea scoffed at him and he laughed to himself. “Fuck it, then. I was makin’ what the hell us civilized people call polite conversation, but if you ain’t interested in that…”

“It’s romantic,” Andrea said. “Sweet. I don’t know. I like how it’s all—light and wavy, kind of dreamy—but it’s like…it would be nice to have someone feel that way about you.” 

Merle was looking at her with a serious expression on his face. It was unnerving because she’d already come to regard the man as a not very serious person. He seemed to notice his own seriousness, because he laughed to himself to wipe away the expression.

“That’s just beautiful,” he said around a mouthful of nachos. Andrea laughed to herself.

“Asshole,” she said. “Alright then, what’s your favorite song?” 

Merle snorted. He caught Andrea’s eyes again, held them, and then raised his eyebrows at her in a way that made something crawl down her back and send a shiver rolling back up her spine. 

“Why Don’t We Get Drunk and Screw?” Merle offered. “You asked.”

“I did ask,” Andrea agreed. She chewed through a few chips loaded with everything that nachos were supposed to have on them. She hadn’t had nachos in a long time, and certainly not past nine at night. She licked sour cream and guacamole off her lips, washed it down with a swig of the fruity drink, and helped herself to another of Merle’s cigarettes without a single objection from the man who sat, almost comfortably reclined in the booth across from her, and simply watched her intently as she helped herself. “Is that—just your favorite song?” Andrea asked, when she’d screwed up enough cheese and vodka fueled courage. “Or an invitation?” 

“It’s whatever you want it to be, Sugar,” Merle said. He smiled at her—that crooked smile, but a little softer this time. “Lady’s choice.” 

“Does that extend beyond this booth?” Andrea asked, her heart fluttering in her chest, and her face unable to hold back the smile. 

“I got a little blue pill that says it goes however long an’ however fuckin’ far you want it to, Sweetheart,” Merle said. “You just tell ole Merle what’cha want.” 

Andrea smiled to herself. She pulled her eyes away from him a moment. She felt her face burn warm, and she didn’t try to keep from smiling. She looked back at him. He was still watching her—just watching her—as he reclined across from her like there was nothing in the whole wide world that had ever so much as bothered him. 

“I want to—eat these nachos,” Andrea said. “And drink this drink. And then—I’d like to see…what your private bar looks like.” 

Merle smiled to himself. He sat up a little and pushed the nachos closer to Andrea. He winked at her.

“It’s all stocked up,” he said. “And I even got a couple Jimmy Buffett CDs. You gonna like it, Sugar.” 

“Yeah,” Andrea mused. “I’ve—I’ve got a feeling I am.”


	12. Chapter 12

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111

“I can’t believe you wimped out on me,” Daryl teased as they stepped through the doors and out into the parking lot. He immediately went for a cigarette, and Carol slowed her steps so that he wouldn’t feel rushed smoking it. He offered her the pack, and she smirked at him.

“You’re just one bad influence after another,” she murmured. 

“That kinda hurts, but I’ma give it to you,” Daryl said, not sounding at all hurt. “I just figured you might want somethin’ to help digest the meal. Nothin’ like a good smoke after a good meal.”

Carol accepted one of the cigarettes and Daryl lit it for her, stopping her forward steps. At this time of the night, most of the people that were going to go eat were already inside eating. There wasn’t much traffic in the parking lot because it wouldn’t be long before they were being pushed toward the door to close up for the night.

“I’m stuffed,” Carol said. “Really—I can hardly breathe. I haven’t eaten that much in years.”

Daryl smiled at the comment and kicked a piece of loose gravel in the parking lot with his toe, sending it shooting away. 

“You did pretty good,” he offered, “but you wimped out on that dessert. I gotta admit, I expected more from you than like three bites.” 

“I told you I was full,” Carol said, smiling in spite of herself.

“Excuses,” Daryl said. “I’ma let it pass for now.” 

“I ate enough for three days,” Carol said. “It’s going to be time for a diet.” 

Daryl furrowed his brow at her.

“Because you had three bites of ice cream and chocolate cake?” Daryl asked.

“Because I had ice cream and chocolate cake on top of a huge entrée and half a gigantic appetizer,” Carol said. “I’m probably going to gain ten pounds.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“You look good to me,” he offered. 

“This is before it’s had time to settle,” Carol said.

“You’ll look good ten pounds later,” Daryl said with a shrug. “Hell—twenty pounds. What does it matter?” 

Carol couldn’t very well expect the man to understand what she barely understood herself. It simply mattered. It mattered a great deal. It weighed on her mind almost constantly. Society had expectations for women—rigid expectations. And Carol had lived too many years with a man who had very strictly adhered to those expectations for his wife. Even an excess bite of food was going to be used against her for weeks to come. A few extra pounds made every verbal assault a little bit worse. 

“I don’t want to talk about this,” Carol said. 

“Fine,” Daryl said. 

“It does matter, though,” Carol said.

“OK,” Daryl said. “I just don’t understand why it matters so much—and you don’t wanna explain it to me—so why don’t we just drop it?”

Carol wanted to drop it, but part of her felt like was practically trying to gnaw its way out of her body like a rat that was determined to escape through her navel. Standing out in the parking lot—with nobody else around except the occasional person that rushed this way or that toward their car—some odd piece of herself wanted this man to understand why she felt the way she did when, in reality, that mattered even less than the hypothetical weight gain he was asking about.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Carol said. “The expectations aren’t the same for men.” 

“What expectations?” Daryl asked. He’d finished his cigarette, but he made no effort to push them toward getting in the truck once they had slowly walked over to stand behind it. Instead, he lit another cigarette like he was content to camp out in the parking lot for the rest of the night.

“Women are expected to be thin,” Carol said. 

“You’re thin,” Daryl said, the shrug that his body didn’t give could practically be heard in his tone of voice. “You’d still be thin with ten or twenty pounds.” 

“Skinny,” Carol said.

“You mean bony?” Daryl asked. “You’re damn near bony as it is. I don’t see—what a couple pounds matters?” 

“Men don’t like weight on a woman,” Carol said. 

Daryl laughed to himself. He held up his hands in mock surrender before returning to smoking his cigarette.

“You mean to say that some men don’t like weight on a woman,” Daryl said. 

Carol felt her muscles tense, though she couldn’t have explained the reaction. 

“All of them,” Carol said. “That I know of,” she added as an afterthought.

“Then you don’t know too many,” Daryl said. “I mean, yeah. Some men’s gonna like more weight than others. Everybody’s got tastes, I guess. Women, too, from what I understand—not that I pretend to know too damn much about women. Still—humans are animals and they all like what the hell they like. Hell—my brother goes fuckin’ hog wild over a blonde. Hair color don’t mean that much to me.”

Carol crossed her arms across her chest. She felt her cheeks grow warm and her throat ached. She silently scolded herself over the possibility that her eyes wanted to shed tears in an entirely inappropriate place and over an entirely inappropriate topic.

“Let me guess,” Carol said. “You don’t mind how I look.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“Oh,” he said after a second. “Oh! You’re fuckin’ serious right now? OK—OK—I thought…OK, I’ll play. No, I don’t mind how you look. If I minded how you looked, I wouldn’ta asked you to eat dinner with me. We’da had an awkward ass coffee date, I’da told you to have a nice life, and I’da said maybe I’ll see you around sometime—knowin’ damn good an’ well that we ain’t crossed tracks before, so it weren’t likely we were gonna bump into each other every other Tuesday.” 

There was honesty in his words, yet Carol couldn’t even believe the honesty that her suspicious gut detected.

“And you wouldn’t mind what I looked like if I gained ten or twenty pounds?” Carol pressed.

“No,” Daryl said. “At least—I don’t imagine I would.” 

“Because that kind of thing doesn’t matter to you,” Carol offered.

“Not really,” Daryl said. 

“And—you don’t have a thing for blondes,” Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Not particularly,” he said. “I think most of that was that—bein’ around Merle all my life? I knew if they was a blonde around, he was about to make a beeline for her ass, and he’d knock me outta the way if he had to. Maybe I just learned not to give a shit about blondes.” 

“And you don’t mind hair color,” Carol said.

“I’m not crazy about the wild colors,” Daryl said. “Shit that looks like someone shampooed their head with Crayola. I don’t mind any of the natural colors, though. Hell—they’re just natural.” 

“So, you don’t mind gray hair,” Carol said.

“Mind it? I got it,” Daryl said. He brushed his hair over his chin. The slight show of a beard there was very close-cropped, but it was clear that he was indicating the few gray hairs that showed up here and there and were dusted through his hair like natural highlights. 

“And you don’t think it makes a woman plain?” Carol asked.

“Do you?” Daryl responded quickly. “Listen—maybe I’m just slow an’ I need you to spell shit out for me. See, I thought we were havin’ a pretty nice night. I mean we laughed, didn’t we? Talked some. You even told me about Jolly—your dog when you was little. You remember that?”

“Of course I remember it,” Carol said, crossing her arms across her chest and fighting against the tight feeling in her throat and the prickling at her eyes. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to have said the things she’d said. She didn’t want to feel the way she felt. She didn’t want any of it. She wanted to unzip her skin, step out of it, and start again with a fresh version of herself.

Daryl was looking at her, brow furrowed, underneath the street light that illuminated his truck in the parking lot. He looked genuinely concerned and confused, all at once, and Carol felt sorry for having caused him such a twisted feeling.

“I’m not pissed off or nothin’,” Daryl said, “in case you get the feelin’ I am, but I’m just about turned around here. Where’s that woman that I was just inside with?”

“I’m right here,” Carol said. 

“Did I do somethin’ wrong?” Daryl asked. “Somethin’ to piss you off?” 

“No, you haven’t done anything wrong. You’ve done—everything right,” Carol said with a sigh, practically feeling her discomfort itch inside her.

“Then why are you lookin’ at me like that and giving me the third degree?” 

“It all just sounds…”

“What?” Daryl asked.

Carol shrugged her shoulders. 

“Too good to be true,” she said. 

Daryl laughed nervously to himself. 

“You mean that I don’t give a shit about gray hair and—ten pounds don’t mean a hill of beans to me?” Daryl asked. “That’s too good to be true?” 

“Honestly? It sounds like a line.” 

“A line?” 

“You know—to…get in my pants,” Carol said. 

Daryl chewed at the cuticle on his thumb for a moment and stared at Carol. She couldn’t really read his expression. 

“Lemme get this straight,” Daryl said, stepping closer to Carol as though he didn’t want them to be overheard by anyone who might pass by on their way from the restaurant to a car. “You think that I’ma stand here an’ lie about what I’m attracted to so I can…have sex with you?” Carol nodded. Daryl laughed somewhat nervously to himself. “That don’t even sound the slightest bit ridiculous to you when you hear it said out loud? If I weren’t attracted to these things—which you clearly feel like apply to you—why the hell would I even be interested in that?” 

His logic hit Carol, hard, in the stomach. She believed him. She understood him. Still, there was something that was so uneasy inside of her—there was something that rolled around and stretched, in her gut, like it was waking up from a long slumber.

“Men have sex because they need to have sex,” Carol said. “Not always because they’re attracted to someone.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“At the risk of you landin’ a good hard slap upside my head,” Daryl said, “which I’ma say in advance that I probably deserve, but…fuck if I ain’t gonna say this shit anyway…I already been there. And it was good. Don’t get me wrong. And I wouldn’t turn it down—there ain’t no way. But…if you average up about how many times I’ve done that in the past—we’ll say ten years? I’m good for at least another two years. So, I hate to disappoint you, and debunk whatever somebody’s taught you, but this ain’t some kinda line just to convince you to go home with me tonight.” 

“Then what is it?” Carol asked. She hugged herself and rubbed her hands on her arms like she normally would when she was cold. She wasn’t cold, though. She was seeking comfort—any comfort would do, even if she had to offer it to herself.

Daryl looked at her, steadily and without moving his eyes away from her, for a moment. It felt like he was looking into her soul, and she flicked her eyes downward to look at the way the light glittered on the parking lot pavement. 

She jumped, without meaning to, when Daryl touched her chin.

“Easy,” he said. With just his finger, he tipped her head up so that she was looking at him. He stepped one step closer to her. He could have tried to kiss her, but he didn’t. He gave her a soft smile. “I’m sorry,” he said softly and sincerely.

“For what?” Carol asked. She could feel the tears—the out of place and unwelcomed tears—prickling in her eyes now. “It’s me who should be sorry.” 

Daryl shook his head.

“No,” he said. “No—you shouldn’t. And that weren’t even, really, what I meant. I’m sorry that—I’m sorry someone done this to you. Made you feel like this. Fucked with your head. They done a damn number on you, and that much is clear. And I’m sorry for it—because I know they never woulda told you that.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Carol said. 

Daryl laughed low in his throat. 

“Bet you don’t,” he said. “Most of us don’t wanna talk about how our heads been fucked with. Until we do. If you do—when you do—lemme know. But there’s somethin’ you oughta know about me. Before I even drive you home.”

“What?” Carol asked. She hugged herself again. She noticed that he still hadn’t dropped his finger. He wasn’t exactly holding her face in place. She could have moved it, if she’d wanted. He was just suggesting, gently, that she look at him, and she found that she didn’t want to move.

He held her eyes, intently, with his own. He had beautiful eyes. Carol remembered that from when they’d been inside the restaurant. They were a beautiful blue. Even in the dim light of the parking lot light, where the color wasn’t really so clear, there was something beautiful about his eyes. They were soulful and sincere. 

“I’m honest,” Daryl said. “To a fault. Even if I know I ought not to say something? Sometimes I can’t help myself. But I don’t lie. If you lie, you get tangled up in it. You gotta tell another lie, and then another, just to keep the first lie from bein’ uncovered. It just keeps growin’ and it’s exhausting. Sooner or later? You gonna get caught. Maybe I’m lazy, or maybe I’d just rather spend my time and energy doin’ other things…maybe it’s just that I’m too damn old for the bullshit. But I don’t lie. I haven’t lied about a single thing since you’ve known me—even the shit you don’t remember.”

“Well if you don’t want to have sex with me,” Carol started, her voice low enough that only he could hear her and only because he was close enough to her that he could have kissed her, but she found that she couldn’t finish. She wasn’t even sure how to finish.

He smiled to himself.

“Oh—I do wanna have sex with you,” he said. “It’s just that I’m not in no particular hurry, if that’s what you prefer, and I don’t just wanna have sex with you.”

“Then what do you want?” Carol asked. “If that’s not what you want or—it’s not just what you want.” 

“Dinner?” Daryl asked.

“We just had dinner,” Carol said. 

“I eat damn near every day if I can swing it,” Daryl said. “Coffee again? This time we throw in some pancakes and scrambled eggs?” 

“It sounds like you’re just trying to fatten me up,” Carol said with a laugh.

“Then a walk,” Daryl said. “At the park. That big ole walkin’ circle. Or fishing. We could even go and—and rent one of them paddle boats out at Fuller’s lake.” 

“That’s a lot of variety,” Carol said. 

“Or you can choose,” Daryl said, dropping the hand that was touching Carol’s chin. “We can do whatever you want. I just know you don’t like doin’ that. My point is—the only thing I want? Is for you to tell me that once we get in that truck, and I take you home, that I’ma see you again. Unless—I’ve done something to you that I don’t know about, or you didn’t have a good time, or…you just don’t like me. In which case, you just tell me that.”

“We could do something,” Carol said. 

Daryl smiled.

“Yeah?” He asked. “What’cha wanna do?” 

“I don’t know,” Carol admitted. “I don’t like to choose. You know that, remember?” 

“I’ll let you think about it,” Daryl said. “Choose if you want or tell me to choose. Either way. You ready to get in the truck? Head back? We’ll have some more time to talk and—we don’t even have to talk about any of this, not if you don’t want.” 

Carol nodded. Daryl walked around and opened the truck door on her side. He offered her an arm in case she should find that she wanted the help getting in. He leaned against the door for a moment.

“Just so you know, and so you can relax,” Daryl said. “I ain’t gonna try to kiss you. You’re a lil’ skittish, and I don’t wanna do nothin’ to fuck with you. But I already told you I’m honest to a fuckin’ fault so—I’ma let you know that I ain’t gonna try to kiss you tonight. But if you get the urge, and you wanna kiss me? I won’t fight you on it.” 

Carol couldn’t help but smile at the strange squirming sensation that such a sincere message caused in her stomach. It was different than the earlier uneasiness, though she could feel that discomfort still present like something that was lurking there. She nodded her understanding to Daryl, thanked him quietly for the information, and buckled up, after he closed the door, for the drive home.

She had a lot to think about. She had more to think about, really, than she’d even imagined she would when she’d first set out on this date. But, at least, she knew that she didn’t have to think too hard about what would happen when and if Daryl made the move to kiss her. 

Instead, she only had to decide if she wanted to make the move to kiss him.


	13. Chapter 13

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think! 

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“Holy shit!” Daryl gasped out. 

He sat bolt upright in the bed and his hand instinctively went for the nightstand drawer where he knew there was a loaded .38 Special.

“You livin’ a dangerous life, brother!” Merle called out. 

Immediately, his brother’s voice drew Daryl the rest of the way out of the stupor that followed the nightmare—a nightmare that had been interrupted by Merle’s dumb ass dragging it into the present and waking world.

“You the one livin’ a dangerous life, you stupid fuck,” Daryl gasped out. He reached over, grabbed his pack of cigarettes and lighter off the nightstand, and lit a cigarette for himself.

Merle stepped further into the bedroom and picked up the jar. He bent down and set about making quick work of cleanup. Daryl realized, then, what it was that he had heard—what had drawn him from the sleeping world to the waking one. Merle had come in his room and, reaching for the light switch near the top of his chest of drawers, he’d knocked off the jar that contained pocket change, buttons, and any variety of odds and ends that Daryl dropped in there at the end of each day.

“The hell are you doin’ in my room, Merle?” Daryl asked. “You just about got yourself shot.” 

Merle laughed to himself.

“You always respond to every little noise by goin’ for your gun, brother?” Merle asked.

“I do when I was havin’ a fucked-up dream like I was,” Daryl said. “An’ then I thought somebody was shootin’ in the damned house.” 

“It banged pretty loud, but…pennies,” Merle said. “Couple quarters. Ain’t no bullets in this jar, brother. The fuck made you dream you was gettin’ shot?” 

“Probably that damned detective show Axel was talkin’ about. He told me like thirteen episodes yesterday. Musta had my brain just—stewin’ over that shit. What’cha doin’ in here, Merle?” 

Merle put the jar back on the chest of drawers when he’d picked up its spilled contents. Then he walked over and helped himself to Daryl’s cigarettes and wiggled a finger to request the lighter. 

“Was comin’ to see what’cha wanted for breakfast,” Merle said. “Late breakfast. Hell, half the reason I come in here is that I got sick of waitin’ on you to wake up. Started to think you might be dead. Any damn way, I was feelin’ kinda like a whole thing, you know? Pancakes, eggs, bacon—maybe cook up some potatoes. But I didn’t know how many I was cookin’ for.” He frowned and sat down on the edge of Daryl’s bed. Daryl moved over to give him room, and moved the ashtray so they could both reach it. “I was hopin’ you mighta smuggled your sweet thing in here last night. Might be sleepin’ in ‘cause you was up all night makin’ sweet, sweet animal love to your honey.” 

Daryl laughed to himself, no longer disgusted by the facial expressions that his brother made, following some nonsense like that which he’d just said, to try and get a rise out of Daryl—or anyone else who he might be harassing.

“She’s too skittish for that, Merle,” Daryl said. “Not last night.”

“Skittish?” Merle asked. 

“I think her ex-husband done a number and a half on her, to tell you the truth,” Daryl said. “She’s worried to death about—about how she looks. You know? Am I tellin’ the truth that I like her size? Is she too damn fat? Can she eat them—them chips or whatever and I’m still gonna like her in the morning?” 

The corner of Merle’s mouth drew up in a half smile.

“How big is this woman?” Merle asked. “You didn’t say she was no Hun.” 

“She ain’t. Skinny lil’ thing,” Daryl said. “Needs to eat, really. But he’s got her seein’ shit, I think, that just ain’t there. Either that or—hell I’d say maybe he was wantin’ the bony type, but it don’t seem to me she coulda got much bonier without it bein’ like a health crisis.” 

“Kinda funny you should say that shit,” Merle said. “Must be somethin’ in the water. Woman I picked up last night at Salty’s? Shit—she was almost desperate hung up on weight. Apologized to my ass for every fuckin’ dimple an’ stripe on her body.” He laughed to himself. “Finally had to tell her that I’d prefer not to have to spit out a mouthful of pussy to tell her I was enjoyin’ everything all right, and that if she didn’t stop worryin’, I was gonna take that shit personal that I weren’t ringin’ no bells for her at all.” 

Daryl shook his head. 

“Thanks Merle, for that fuckin’ image,” Daryl said.

“You offended by some pussy eatin’, brother?” Merle asked.

“No,” Daryl said. He laughed to himself, though, because he already knew what was coming. 

“You know what I told your ass a long time ago, Daryl, about eatin’ pussy, don’t’cha?” Merle asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Better’n I know the fuckin’ Velveeta jingle,” Daryl offered. Merle was going to recite his stupid ass poem, anyway, and Daryl knew it. 

“Pussy’s good for a daily meal,” Merle said. “Say it with me, brother.” 

“Fuck you. I ain’t,” Daryl said. Merle laughed. He wasn’t bothered in the least by Daryl not playing along with him. 

“Pussy’s good for a daily meal. The more you eat, the better you feel. The better you feel, the longer you live. So, eat all the pussy she’s willin’ to give.” 

“Fuckin’ poet laureate,” Daryl mused.

“You coulda had pussy for breakfast, Daryl, like your ole brother, Merle…but’cha didn’t,” Merle said.

“You countin’ breakfast as what happens at two in the mornin’ now?” Daryl asked.

“No,” Merle said. “She ain’t left not an hour ago. If your ass ain’t decided to sleep the whole damn mornin’ away, you woulda seen her. Stayed for coffee, but she claimed she had to get on. Had somewhere to be. Some shit she’s gotta get done today.”

“See—now I know your ass is just in here yankin’ me around,” Daryl said, helping himself to another cigarette and tossing the pack at Merle so he didn’t even have to request it. “Merle Dixon don’t believe in wakin’ up with a woman in his bed.” 

Merle laughed to himself. He hummed.

“He does if the pussy’s sweet enough he’s just gotta taste it again to believe it,” Merle said. “It’s a rare thing that it tastes as good sober as it did drunk. But I’ma tell you one thing, brother. Even if I make us some good damn pancakes? Ain’t nothin’ in this lil’ mid-mornin’ meal gonna compare with what the hell I had ‘fore that honey slipped out the door.”

Daryl laughed to himself, almost nervously. There was a veritable twinkle in his older brother’s eyes, and that was entirely unlike Merle. It wasn’t unusual to find the asshole so damn cheerful in the morning that Daryl half wanted to puke on him, but this was something different.

“You’re yankin’ my chain,” Daryl said. “You ain’t had fuckin’ coffee with her ass!” 

“Her cup’s in there right now, brother,” Merle said. “Ain’t moved from where she left it. Why the fuck would I dirty up two cups just to yank you around?”

“Well—was she fat?” Daryl asked. 

“What?” Merle asked.

“You said she just about worried your ass to death over—fat and everything else,” Daryl said. “Was she fat?” 

“Built like a brick house, brother,” Merle mused. The twinkle hadn’t faded, in the least, in his eye. “Eleven outta fuckin’ ten and an ass that’d bring a damn tear to your eye. Hell—way she rode my dick? Did bring a fuckin’ tear to my eye, I’ma tell you that damned much. Pussy that good makes a man not ashamed to cry about it.”

“Shit,” Daryl said with a laugh at his brother’s antics. “Let me guess. She looked just like Farrah Fawcett.” 

Merle was clearly amused.

“Better,” Merle said. 

“Better’n Farrah Fawcett? You feelin’ OK, Merle? You have a stroke or somethin’ from all your exertion?” 

Merle snorted.

“My point is that I ain’t never seen Farrah Fawcett in the damned mornin’, Daryl,” Merle said. “Don’t know what her ass looks like wakin’ up after some good fuckin’. I know what this woman was lookin’ like, though, an’ didn’t not a damn thing that mattered wash offa her when she excused herself to the bathroom to clean up. And there weren’t nothin’ sober that turned out to be some smoke an’ mirrors shit for when I was drunk. She was all woman the whole damn time.” 

Daryl’s face felt warm. Merle had always wanted, for himself, some nice movie relationship—someone he could get addicted to, since Merle had a particularly strong addictive personality—but the women he’d chosen had never been that type. Maybe, once or twice, Merle had thought he’d found something worth holding onto. They’d slipped through his fingers quickly enough, though, that Daryl couldn’t remember their names or faces, and he doubted Merle could either. It had been a long time since Merle had even quit looking for that. It was easier to turn them loose, himself, the moment he was done with them, and pretend he didn’t care, than it was to have his feelings hurt.

Daryl worried that his brother, for the first time in probably more than twenty years, had just set himself up for some hurt feelings.

“Hey,” Daryl said. “I’m happy for you, brother. You—uh—get this angel’s number? Or she flew right on back off to heaven without leavin’ any contact information?” 

Merle smirked at him.

“I got a number,” Merle said. 

“You gonna use it?” Daryl asked. He could tell, from Merle’s expression, that he was battling some inner demon. If he used the number, he risked allowing the woman to hurt him. If he didn’t, he’d still get hurt, but maybe it was easier to drive the stake through his own heart than it was to allow someone else to do it.

“Well…” Merle mused, drawing out the word like he was considering a response. “That’s enough about me. What happened with your lil’ woman? Say she’s skittish?” 

“She’s gonna be fine,” Daryl said. “She’s just got her shit, you know? And hell, don’t we fuckin’ all?” 

Merle laughed to himself.

“Speak for your own damned self,” Merle said. “I don’t got shit.” 

“Yeah—alright,” Daryl said. “Well, I gotta piss. So as much as I’m enjoyin’ this lil’ slumber party…” 

“You want my food or you don’t?” Merle asked. “That’s the whole damn reason I’m in here.” 

“I want food, Merle,” Daryl said. “Whatever the hell it is you got to offer.” 

Merle got up from the side of the bed and shuffled out of the room. Daryl let himself into the bathroom and relieved his bladder. He washed his hands and used his fingers to run enough water through his har to take care of the pieces that were sticking up in odd directions. 

Finally, he joined Merle in the kitchen, but he sat at the table and kept out of his brother’s way while Merle—still looking very pleased with everything about his whole sorry life—went about cheerfully preparing a Huddle House worthy breakfast.

“You had a good time?” Merle asked, resurrecting the partially abandoned conversation.

“Real good time,” Daryl admitted. “I like her, Merle.” 

Merle hummed.

“And how she feel about you, Darylina?” 

“I think she likes me, too,” Daryl said. 

“But she ain’t come back with you,” Merle said. “And—I’m guessin’ she ain’t invited you in?” 

“She ain’t ready for that, Merle,” Daryl said. 

“Skittish,” Merle supplied. Daryl hummed. “Forgive my ass for sayin’ it, but she weren’t so damned skittish last week.” 

“She was drunk, Merle,” Daryl said. “And I think—maybe she was going through something.” 

“Like a break up or some shit? Caught you on the rebound?” Merle asked.

“Not like that,” Daryl said. “Hell—like maybe she just got lonely.”

“She still lonely?” Merle asked. “Look—I ain’t tryin’ to bust your bubble, but I’ma worry about you, brother. I know you. If she’s just gonna jerk your ass around...”

“You think because she didn’t fuck me, she’s jerkin’ me around?” Daryl asked, almost amused by the thought. Merle half shrugged his shoulders as if to say that he didn’t want to commit to that idea entirely, but that wasn’t the exact opposite of what he was saying. “She’s not jerkin’ me around, Merle. She’s just—scared. And I respect that. Fuck if I ain’t scared of a lot of shit.” 

“You was scared of my ass this mornin’,” Merle said with a laugh.

“Asshole,” Daryl shot back. “She give me a kiss last night. Sweet lil’ kiss goodnight.”

“And you contented with that?” Merle asked.

“Gotta be,” Daryl said. “I don’t want a thing that ain’t freely given, and I know you know what the hell I mean.” 

“I just don’t wanna see your ass get dragged bad enough that looks like she took you down sixty miles of bad fuckin’ highway,” Merle said, like he was talking to the scrambled eggs that he eyed mournfully. “That’s all, brother.” 

Daryl’s stomach tightened with the sentiment. He believed his brother. He also believed that Carol had no intention of dragging him in any way, shape, or form. 

“I hear you, brother,” Daryl offered. “And—I feel the same damn way.” 

Merle looked at him over his shoulder.

“Fuck you mean?” He asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m just sayin’—be careful. Whether you talk about it or not? I can see shit in your eyes, Merle. Practically smell that shit on you—and it ain’t pussy I’m smellin’. Just remember, brother, fuckin’ Lucifer was an angel once, himself.”


	14. Chapter 14

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Carol assumed that most women her age, especially those that lived alone, were probably startled by the sound of someone moving around in their house in the early morning hours. That was not exactly the case for Carol, though.

A quick glance out of the bedroom window assured Carol that Andrea’s car was parked in the driveway. Carol pulled on her favorite fluffy housecoat, tied the string around her waist, and padded through the house toward the kitchen where the smell of coffee and breakfast greeted her. 

She smiled to herself, seeing the back of her friend before Andrea realized she was there. 

“You know I gave you that key for emergencies,” Carol said.

“This was an emergency,” Andrea said, not turning around from her cooking.

“You didn’t buy groceries and it was easier to drive to my house than the IGA?” Carol asked. 

Andrea laughed to herself.

“No…I needed to hear about your date and you needed to eat breakfast. I know how you are on Saturdays if you’re not working. You won’t eat anything the whole day, if I don’t come over, because you claim that you serve food all week and you don’t want to do it on your days off.”

“There’s truth to that,” Carol agreed. She poured a cup of coffee and leaned around Andrea to see what she was preparing—hash browns. “I didn’t have potatoes.” Andrea leaned and pecked Carol on the cheek enthusiastically and Carol laughed to herself. “Someone’s in a good mood,” she mused.

“The best mood,” Andrea assured her. “And see? Not only do I buy groceries, but I buy them for your house, Carol. I stopped at the IGA on my way. I got wine, too, but not for breakfast.” 

It was clear that Andrea was inviting herself to spend the day, but that wasn’t unusual. Michonne and Jacqui had families. Alice was married to her work. Carol and Andrea usually found themselves spending their days off together—so much so that Andrea scheduled her client-free days to correspond with whatever days Carol was taking off each week.

“You picked all this up on your way here from home?” Carol asked.

“Why would you ask me that?” Andrea asked.

“You’re overdressed for a Saturday morning of cooking potatoes in my house,” Carol mused. “Usually it’s pajamas or—sweatpants. That’s your favorite boob shirt, isn’t it? But you’re not wearing makeup, so I’m confused.” 

Andrea didn’t respond. She scraped the cooked hash browns onto two plates, and put the pan in the sink. She ran water in it and gestured toward a plate where she’d already prepared bacon and sliced up tomatoes. Carol understood what she was indicating, so she took that plate to the table with her coffee mug. She came back to retrieve Andrea’s mug while Andrea carried their plates of potatoes to the table. 

It wasn’t until they were settled in to eat at the table that Andrea spoke again.

“I’ll tell you all mine,” Andrea said. “Every last little detail, if that’s what you want, but I want to hear about your date!” 

“All of your what?” Carol asked. “What happened, Andrea?” 

“I went to Salty’s,” Andrea said. The smile on her lips was enough to tell Carol that a trip to the bar wasn’t the end of the story. Something in Carol’s stomach jumped, too, at the thought that it had been a long time since Shane Walsh had put even half the smile on Andrea’s face that she was trying to hold back. 

“Did you even go home last night?” Carol asked.

“Please tell me about your date,” Andrea whined. “That’s why I’m here.”

Carol smiled to herself. She wasn’t really hungry, but she hated not to eat the food that she knew that Andrea had prepared for her with affection. She tasted a bite of the potatoes. 

“It was nice,” she said.

“Just nice?” Andrea asked. Carol laughed quietly.

“I don’t know what the proper wording for these things is,” Carol said. “I’m a little rusty.”

“Nice is the guy at Home Depot, Carol,” Andrea said. There was genuine disappointment on her face. “Nice is—I almost fell asleep and drowned in soup.”

“Maybe I just mean that he was nice,” Carol said. “It was dinner. We had a good time. We talked the whole time. We ate—way too much. We laughed.” She smiled to herself. “We laughed a lot, and…that was good. I haven’t laughed with a man since…before Ed and I got married.” 

Andrea’s disappointment was replaced with a bit of a satisfied smile.

“And?” Andrea pressed when Carol didn’t continue talking.

“And what?” Carol asked. “It was dinner, Andrea. We ate and then he brought me home.” 

“Did he—stay?” Andrea asked.

“No,” Carol said, shaking her head. Andrea’s face fell.

“Did he come in for a drink?” Andrea asked. Carol laughed to herself and shook her head. 

“No,” she said. “He drove me home. And he—opened my car door. And he walked me to the door, and then we said goodnight.” 

“And then your mother flashed the porch lights to tell you it was time to come inside?” Andrea asked. Carol let her know, with one quick expression, that she didn’t appreciate her tone or facial expression. 

“We kissed goodnight,” Carol offered. “Does that make you happy?” 

“That depends,” Andrea said, filling her mouth with the breakfast that she clearly desired more than Carol did. “Did it make you happy?” 

“It was a nice kiss, and Daryl seems so great…” Carol offered.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ of monumental proportions here, Carol,” Andrea said around her food, “so why don’t you save us both some time and cut to the chase about why it is that you’re about to yank the rug out from under this man.” 

“We don’t know each other,” Carol said.

“That’s kind of the idea of meeting new people,” Andrea offered. “You don’t know each other, and then you do things, together, where you get to know each other. At the end of it, you know each other.”

“You know what they say about when things seem to good to be true?” Carol asked. Andrea laughed to herself.

“So, you’ve already decided this guy is not what he appears to be?” Andrea asked. 

Carol’s stomach ached, and she didn’t want the food in front of her at all. She pushed the potatoes around with her fork, but she didn’t dare to taste the food. The truth of the matter was that she didn’t know if she believed that Daryl wasn’t what he said he was, or if she was actively trying to convince herself that she believed that. 

“What’d he do?” Andrea asked. “That makes him—so clearly a phony? Did something happen on your date? Did he do something to you?” 

“He didn’t do anything,” Carol said. “He was perfect. He was polite, and nice, and funny…and he told me that he wasn’t going to kiss me goodnight. He was going to let me kiss him goodnight, but only if I wanted to. And—after I kissed him, he just…said goodnight and went home. He told me goodnight and he left…just like that. And he didn’t even try to talk me into letting him come inside.” 

“He sounds like a real menace to society,” Andrea said. “So, what makes you think there’s something wrong with him?” 

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

“It doesn’t seem possible,” Carol said. “There’s—got to be something. And he’s biding his time.” 

“Like an axe murderer?” Andrea asked. “Don’t look at me like that! You’re the one with the conspiracy theory, Carol. I’m just trying to keep up. Look—did he have a good time? Did he ask you out again?” 

“He said I could choose whatever we do next or, if I don’t want to choose, he’d pick something,” Carol said. “He said I could call him, but…he’ll call me next week if I don’t.”

“Pfffttt,” Andrea spat. “Shit. I mean—I see what you’re talking about now. He sounds just awful. He clearly has an agenda. He’s going to keep being nice to you for what appears to be an indefinite amount of time.” 

“Ed was nice, too,” Carol said. “In the beginning.” 

Andrea’s expression changed and her shoulders slumped a little. 

“I need you to understand that I’m not—nor would I ever, Carol—making light of what Ed did or who he was,” Andrea said. “But—Ed was an asshole. A first class, first rate, asshole. He pretended to be a certain way and he preyed on you.” 

“And how do I know that Daryl isn’t the same?” Carol asked.

“You don’t, maybe,” Andrea said. “Maybe you take it slow?” 

“That’s what he said in the truck,” Carol said. “We could take it slow. We should take it slow. However slow I wanted to go.”

“Did Ed ever offer you the same courtesy?” Andrea asked.

“I was young then,” Carol said. “Naïve. I wanted to move quickly. I wanted to get married. Have my babies. I was in a hurry to have my perfect little family, and my wonderful little picturesque life. I never asked Ed to slow down for anything in the beginning.” 

“You’re not the same woman you were,” Andrea said. “Or—girl, or whatever. Carol, what if Daryl’s not like Ed? What if he’s genuinely nice, and funny, and all of that?” 

“Why are you so worried about it?” Carol asked, doing her best to draw even her own attention away from the way that her stomach felt. 

“Because you’re my best friend,” Andrea said. “And I want you to be happy. Look—what is something that Ed absolutely would have never done with you?” 

Carol laughed to herself. She rested her chin on her hand and rested her elbow on the table, pushing her plate away.

“Anything,” Carol said, tasting her coffee again. 

“I’m serious!” Andrea declared.

“I am too,” Carol said, her throat tightening. “Shit—I’m serious. Nothing. Not for me. Everything…Andrea…everything was about Ed. As soon as the honeymoon, it started. We ate when and where Ed wanted to eat. The sex was…on Ed’s terms. Always. Don’t get excited about things because that’s childish, and ridiculous, and he wasn’t listening to that bullshit. I wanted too much out of life—out of him. Everything was stupid and costed too much money…and I fucked up everything anyway.” 

“So, ask Daryl to do something that you want to do,” Andrea said. “Something that—Ed would never, ever do. See what he does. See how he reacts.” 

“A test?” 

“It’s not flattering,” Andrea said. “But—I’m sure he’d rather pass a test like that than for you not to answer your phone the next time he calls.”

Carol sucked in a breath, held it, and let it out. 

“I’ll think about it,” she said. “I want to think about something else, though, right now. Tell me what you did last night.” 

Andrea smiled to herself. She wiggled in her chair. 

“It’s not so much about what I did as who I did,” Andrea said. “And what he did to me!” 

Carol felt her face grow warm, but Andrea was less embarrassed by such things than Carol was. Ed had taught Carol, pretty well, to be ashamed of her sexuality. He’d picked up where her parents had left off, perhaps, or where society had left off. Michonne was a bit more conservative, as well, as was Jacqui. Meanwhile, Alice and Andrea were both something like daughters of the sexual revolution. Neither of them was ashamed of what they enjoyed, though Carol knew that Shane often hurt Andrea’s feelings over her desires by telling her that she wasn’t attractive enough to be as interested in sex as she was—and she wasn’t good at it, either, as she ought to be if she were going to insist on having so many desires.

To be honest, when it came to her friends, it wouldn’t have taken much for someone to win over Carol’s affections and blessings—especially if they were up against Shane.

“You slept with someone?” Carol asked.

“Oh, there was not a lot of sleeping,” Andrea offered. Her smile was radiant, and it was contagious. “He had to be a world-class gardener for as good as he treated my flower.” Andrea winked at Carol and Carol laughed to herself in response. 

“Were you drunk?” Carol asked. Andrea shrugged and wiggled her hand.

“I wasn’t stone cold sober,” she said. “But—I mean, I wasn’t blitzed. He asked me to stay for breakfast, but I really wanted to get over here and find out about your date. But, Carol—you’ve never had someone eat your pussy like this guy did. I mean—he ate pussy like it was a religion. I got a fucking cramp in my calf just from my toes curling—and he rubbed it out without even stopping. I thought I’d lose my mind.” 

“Oh—Andrea!” Carol said, covering her own face for a moment with her hand. Her face burned hot for Andrea, and when she looked at her friend, she saw a flood of pink run to Andrea’s cheeks and her nose, but it didn’t stop her. 

“I heard that a couple of times last night, too,” Andrea offered. Carol rolled her eyes. 

“So, you’re going to see him again?” Carol asked.

“I hope,” Andrea said. “I didn’t get his number, but I gave him mine.” 

Carol felt her face fall, and she tried to cover it up quickly.

“I’m sure he’ll call soon,” Carol said. 

Andrea’s eyes went wide.

“You don’t believe that at all, do you?” Andrea asked. “Don’t lie to me,” she added, when Carol hesitated. “You don’t think I’m…you don’t think he’d want to call me?” 

“I don’t think it’s you. It’s just…I think he’s a man,” Carol said. “And—it’s probably just me, Andrea. I just—what if that’s all he was after?” Andrea looked crushed, suddenly, and Carol slipped out of her chair and walked over to wrap her arms around her friend. Andrea leaned into her. “I’m sorry. Don’t listen to me, OK? I just—you know how I am, and how I think, and I didn’t mean to suggest that’s all he would want.”

“No,” Andrea said, pulling away, “you might be right. The worst part about it is—even if that’s all he wanted? I’d still want him to call again, just because that was about the best thing I’ve ever had with a man.” 

Carol sat down in her chair, but she did reach her hand across to catch Andrea’s and hold it. 

“I don’t like to hear that,” she said. “But—I do hope he calls again. And—I’m sorry, because I think I ruined your good mood and that wasn’t my intention.” 

“It’s OK,” Andrea offered. She put on a smile which was much more halfhearted than before, and patted Carol’s hand with the one she wasn’t holding. “It wouldn’t have lasted too long, anyway.” 

“What can I do to make it up to you?” Carol asked. Andrea’s smiled grew a little more and she raised her eyebrows at Carol.

“You could—hang out with me and…let’s make a list of all the things you might tell Daryl you want or like. For when he calls again.” 

Carol’s stomach twisted in response, and she felt a wave of anxiety wash over her. Being entirely honest with Andrea was easy, now. She’d had to work up to it, though. Ed had taught her well that nobody cared about her wants, and what she did want was either impossible, ridiculous, or stupid. Her friends had taught her that not everybody felt that way. She could be honest with them, now, for the most part, and she rarely had to fight more than a little insecurity before she shared her thoughts. But being entirely honest with Daryl? That was nerve wracking. Still, this was only a list, and it was only shared with Andrea. Just because they made it, didn’t mean she actually had to share it with him.

“Fine,” Carol said. 

“Great!” Andrea said. 

“But if we’re writing down everything I’ve ever wanted and never—never got or did? We’ll be here half the day.”

“What else did you have to do today? I’ll splurge for the pizza later,” Andrea said. “And I’m sure you’re willing to lend a friend some pajamas.”

Carol laughed to herself. 

“You know where they are,” Carol said. “You’ve done enough. I’ll handle the dishes while you go change.”


	15. Chapter 15

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl and Merle had developed a lot of different, and somewhat shared, coping mechanisms throughout their years together—even if those weren’t the words that they would have used to discuss what they were doing. After a Friday night that left them both with a great deal of questions, both brothers had stayed in on Saturday. They’d ordered a pizza—the kind with the cheese in the crust, since Merle found that pizza naturally superior to any other pizza—and they’d decided to watch a movie. Daryl had let Merle pick the movie while he’d run out to the store to pick up beer and ice cream, and when he’d gotten back, Merle told him there was nothing on except one of the sappy ass movies that, as Daryl had noted a long time ago, seemed to be the only movies that were on when they watched something late at night.

Daryl didn’t know what the hell Merle had thought about, exactly, while they’d eaten and watched the movie. He knew his brother had been damn near wearing thin the paper on which that woman—his “better than Farrah Fawcett” woman—had scribbled her phone number. Daryl assumed, knowing Merle, that he was thinking if he didn’t call her, she couldn’t turn out to be some bitch that hurt him. If he didn’t call her, he’d really be able to show her—he’d hurt himself, long before she ever got the chance. He could shoot himself in the foot to keep her from doing it.

Daryl didn’t know for sure, though, what it was that Merle thought while he sat, brow furrowed and mouth drawn up in concentration, stewing heavily over the movie about a woman who moved back to her home town, after seeing the world or some shit, to open a little coffee shop and fall in love with the carpenter that she’d known back in high school but had never given a second glance. At the end of the movie, they’d gotten their happily ever after—like everyone in those movies did after they fought what was surely coming for a little while. 

Daryl hadn’t paid much attention to the movie because, from the moment the woman had opened her little coffee shop, he hadn’t really stopped thinking of Carol. And every time he glanced at his brother, troubled over whether or not he ought to give that woman and call and risk getting his heart—which was an organ he’d protected with everything in him since he’d been practically a kid—chewed up to pieces, he thought about the fact that maybe it was worth risking your heart getting chewed up just to finally find what the hell was at the end of all these cheesy ass movies. Maybe it was worth it, if that was what it took to get the happily ever after. 

Maybe it was worth it just to not spend your whole life wondering if you’d been so damned close to it and just turned away from it, simply because you were scared of what you couldn’t see.

Carol was scared. Daryl knew that. He’d seen it. He’d seen nothing but pure fear in her eyes in Charlie’s parking lot—almost like a cornered animal. Like Merle, maybe, she didn’t want to get hurt. She was afraid of the hurt. Maybe, like Merle, she was afraid that you didn’t survive the hurt.

The only difference, maybe, was that Merle had been told from the time he was wearing diapers that there wasn’t a soul in the world that was going to care about him if they didn’t have to—if blood didn’t obligate them to tolerate him. Therefore, he’d simply come to believe that, in the absence of being able to care for him, the only thing left was for people to hurt him. Carol had been taught by someone—probably that ex-husband—that she was going to be hurt. She should simply expect it to happen because she’d been shown that it would.

Maybe Daryl was different than the both of them. He’d been hurt before, and he knew he wasn’t a blue-ribbon prize, but he’d always at least wanted to believe in something—foolish as that may be. He’d wanted better, perhaps, and dreamed he could have it. He wanted the happily ever after at the end of the sappy ass movies and at least one part of him believed that it wasn’t all make believe.

It wasn’t impossible, it just wasn’t possible with just anyone. It took finding the right person. 

Like the people in the movie, if he had no intention of hurting the woman just minding her business and opening up her coffee shop, then why couldn’t he be the one that, someday, she saw as the man she’d just never paid attention to before, but was somehow always meant to love? 

Daryl didn’t call Carol all weekend. He gave her space to sort out whatever she needed to sort out. He gave her room to breathe. He allowed her to feel whatever she needed to feel without having him breathing down her neck, demanding that she be called to action. 

He didn’t bug Merle too much, either, though he did finally tell him Sunday evening that he wished he’d just call the woman so it might cut down on the snapping and brooding that was taking place while Merle was trying to work out his feelings over the woman that, if he didn’t call her, would never have the chance to act in any of the ways that Merle was imagining she might.

On Monday morning, rather than call Carol, Daryl left for work particularly early. He parked his truck a block and a half from her café, and he walked down to the little produce stand where an old man and woman were selling their garden grown goods out of their little popup shop. He bought a few apples to pass around at lunch, and he got the woman’s suggestion on the other thing that had caught his attention—the thing that had made him park that far from the café and stop by to be their customer in the first place.

Daryl found the café unofficially “open”. The sign on the door proclaimed it to be closed, still, if the hours posted had indicated actual working hours, but there were “regulars” going in and out that made their own hours. Daryl slipped in with the rest of them. 

Daryl scanned the café quickly. It wasn’t that big, but the set-up made it difficult to scan the whole place at a glance, particularly with the way the counter was situated like a peninsula in the middle of the café. In one corner, Daryl immediately recognized the blonde woman that had watched his coffee date with Carol. She was sitting, though, with another woman, and she hadn’t noticed his entrance into the café.

Daryl didn’t see Carol for a moment, and his heart sunk as he realized that maybe she didn’t work on Monday. Then he saw her, coming from the kitchen and stepping up to the counter to pass over a plate with a pastry on it to a waiting customer. She gave the customer a warm and genuine smile and waved the woman on toward her business partner—Jacqui, Daryl had learned was the woman’s name—so that she could pay her money.

Carol scanned the café quickly, looking for anyone who might need anything, and Daryl saw the moment that her eyes found him. She almost looked like she’d been splashed with iced water, but he forgave her the shock. She hadn’t expected to see him. She hadn’t prepared. Maybe, even, she’d forgotten to put on her invisible armor and shield because she hadn’t realized he’d be there.

But even the coffee shop owner in the sappy movie had been somewhat standoffish at first.

Daryl walked up to the counter and, for just a moment, he wished he was as smooth as Merle. Merle might not trust them to be worth keeping once he got them in the boat, but he knew how to get them to swallow a hook. 

Daryl wasn’t as smooth as Merle, though. It had never been his superpower. So instead of having some great line to fall back on, he simply smiled at Carol and offered her the flower that he’d bought off the old woman at the popup. 

Carol’s surprised face relaxed a little, and a smile played at the corners of her lips.

“For me?” She asked.

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“You think I bring flowers to every woman on a Monday morning?” Daryl asked. Carol’s smile grew slightly and she accepted the flower.

“I don’t know,” she said. “You might. A tulip?” 

“Woman at the flower place said it was the best kind of flower to say—good morning and I hope that you have a good day,” Daryl said. “Without bein’ half as damn scary or committal as a rose.” 

Carol laughed. 

“I didn’t know there was such a thing as scary flowers,” Carol offered.

“Bet you would have if I’da walked in here with roses,” Daryl challenged. 

Carol sighed and nodded her head. 

“You’re probably right about that,” she said. “Listen, Daryl—I meant to call you this weekend…”

Daryl held his hand up.

“Please,” he said, “if what you’re about to say is…you got too busy an’ you’re so glad I stopped by so we could have some coffee and talk about things, then keep right on talkin’. If what you’re about to say is some way to nicely tell me to go to hell? Just skip the extra and tell me to go to hell.” 

Carol blanched slightly.

“Can we talk?” Carol asked. 

“So you can tell me to go to hell, or so we can really talk?” Daryl asked.

Carol shook her head. 

“I don’t want to tell you to go to hell,” she said. 

Daryl’s stomach had knotted to the point that he might have diagnosed himself with having wrongside-outward-stomach if such a thing existed. The tangled-up muscle started to right itself, though, with Carol’s words and the soft sincerity of her voice. He nodded his head at her. 

“I’ll get us some coffee,” he said. 

Carol glanced back toward the table where the woman who’d watched them before was sitting. She was with another woman—a brunette who had her feet up in the chair with her—and they were both watching intently, now that they’d noticed that Carol and Daryl were talking. 

“Can we sit outside?” Carol asked. 

“We can sit on the roof if it makes you happy,” Daryl offered. “You lead the way.”

Carol poured them coffee, and Daryl picked up both cups. She refused to let him pay, and he noticed that she held tight to the tulip that he’d brought her. Outside, she chose one of the small tables—the one in the most shade. She put the tulip on the table in front of her when she sat.

“Nobody’s ever brought me flowers before,” she mused.

“You do like ‘em, though?” Daryl asked.

Carol smiled to herself. 

“Who doesn’t like flowers?” She asked.

“Then you oughta get flowers,” Daryl said. He lit a cigarette and sat back in his chair. “You were just about to tell me in there why you didn’t call this weekend.” 

“You stopped me from lying to you,” Carol admitted. 

“You were gonna tell me to go to hell?” Daryl asked. 

“It sounded nicer in my head,” Carol said. “But when you said that, I realized—it’s all the same thing, isn’t it? Even if I use nicer words.” 

“Why?” Daryl asked. “What’d I do wrong?” 

“Not a thing,” Carol said. “You didn’t do anything wrong…”

“Then why tell me to go to hell?” Daryl asked. “Did you have a good time on Friday?” 

“I had a great time,” Carol said. 

“So…why? You had a good time. I had a good time. I thought that’s when you—have a good time again. Not when you decide you don’t never wanna see each other again.” 

“I told you I was married before,” Carol said. Daryl hummed and nodded. “He was abusive, Daryl. In every possible way that you can imagine.” 

Daryl’s stomach twisted and he nodded and hummed. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “But—I can’t undo that no more than you can undo shit that’s happened in my life.” 

“I’m not asking you to,” Carol said. “Maybe I’m just—telling you.” 

“I’m listening,” Daryl said, tasting his coffee and sneaking a quick glimpse at his phone. He had plenty of time, and if he was a few minutes late, Tyreese would understand. 

“I promised myself, when I got away from him, that I’d never let anyone hurt me again,” Carol said. 

“I can respect that,” Daryl said. 

Carol looked up from where she’d been staring, hard, at her coffee cup. 

“Can you?” She asked.

“Sure,” Daryl said. “Nobody wants to get hurt in the first place. I guess it’s only rational that they surely don’t wanna get hurt again if they’ve been hurt before.” 

Carol looked a little relieved.

“So, you understand—why I didn’t call?” Carol asked.

“Sure,” Daryl said. “But—I think it’s important that you understand that I don’t have any intentions of hurtin’ you. No way, shape, or form.” 

Carol laughed to herself.

“Wouldn’t you say that, no matter what?” She asked.

“If I was paranoid, I might agree with you,” Daryl said. 

“Am I being paranoid?” Carol asked. Daryl nodded his head. Her face fell.

“It’s OK, though,” Daryl said. “We all got our shit. I got more’n enough of my own to fill a wheelbarrow. Listen, Carol—I’m probably the most patient person you ever gonna meet as long as I feel like somethin’ good is gonna come from the wait.” 

“What is it you want?” Carol asked.

Daryl smiled to himself.

“Right now, it’s nothin’ but—to know you,” he said. 

“You already know me,” Carol said. “In more than one sense of the word, if we’re being honest.”

“Then it’s to get to know you a little bit more,” Daryl said. “And a little bit more.”

“Until?” Carol asked.

Daryl shrugged.

“Until—maybe you don’t feel the need to worry about it,” Daryl offered. He raised his eyebrows at her. “I gotta go to work soon. But—you got any more questions about me? Anything else that’s—keepin’ you from usin’ that number in your phone like I hope you will?” 

Carol smiled to herself. Her cheeks blushed pink. She nodded her head. 

“Just one more,” Carol said. “I think.”

“Go ahead,” Daryl pressed.

“Why?” Carol asked. “Why me?” She shook her head. “I’m not worth the—the hassle.” 

Daryl felt his chest tighten, oddly, at the words. He didn’t like them in the most primal way.

He could tell her that there was something about her that made her almost feel magnetic to him. He could tell her that he felt drawn to her. He could say that, when he saw her, he got goosebumps and his hair stood up, but he didn’t hate the sensation like he did when he was cold and it happened. He could tell her that, rather than being cold, the sight of her made him feel warm with a heat that radiated out from his belly. He could tell her that her eyes were beautiful, like he might want to swim in them. He could tell her that the good time he’d had with her on Friday night had made him that much more confident that he liked her—more than he’d ever liked any woman before. He could tell her that conversation with her was easy, and he wanted to talk to her—to tell her things—like he’d never wanted to sit and talk to any one person before. He could tell her that he spent all of Saturday night imaging that he was the asshole in the sappy ass movie that got some happily every after with the coffee-shop lady.

But to tell her all of those things, would have been to scare her, and Daryl didn’t want to scare her. Slow and easy was hard sometimes, but there were very few times in life that it didn’t pay off.

“Maybe—because I like you,” Daryl said. “Maybe—because I think you are worth it. The real damn question, though, ends up bein’ if—you think I’m worth the chance.”

Carol hesitated. Daryl could tell that she was breathing shallow and fast. She was near an actual panic attack, and Daryl didn’t want to push her into that first thing on a Monday morning. She didn’t deserve to start her week that way. His chest tightened again. The bastard she was thinking about—because she was sure it was him that she was thinking about—had really dragged her ass up and down a lot of miles of bad road.

It made Daryl that much more certain that, if she needed it, he could be however patient she required. 

“I think you are,” Carol said, somewhat hesitantly.

“But you’re still scared,” Daryl offered. Her face flushed red. It was answer enough. “It’s OK,” Daryl said. “I ain’t gonna bite. Tell you what—you’re serious? You prove it to me.” 

“How?” Carol asked.

“You text me,” Daryl said. “Today. Tonight. Sometime.”

“Text you what?” Carol asked.

Daryl stood up, instinctively knowing that he had to leave to make it to work on time. Carol started to stand, and he waved her to sit.

“It don’t matter,” Daryl said. “Anything. Your middle name. Your favorite color. What you decide to eat for dinner. As long as you start the conversation? I’ll understand. And—I wish you weren’t scared, but I’m not scared of scared, Carol. What I mean is—I meant what I said. If all you need is a little patience? I got it in spades.”


	16. Chapter 16

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Carol tasted her wine and readjusted herself in the bathtub. She slid the little wooden shelf into place—it held her wine glass, books, phone, and anything else she needed. It kept it all safely above the water where she could interact with it without anything getting ruined by the water. It had been a Christmas gift from Andrea the year before, after Carol had lost her cell phone to an unfortunate bathtub baptism. 

Her stomach churned, but the wine helped a little with her anxiety. She stared at the open text message. It was blank, waiting on her. It was almost mocking her. 

She could walk away. She didn’t have to face this fear. It was her choice. But the glass vase on the corner of her tub held the single tulip, and the flower reminded her that it might be nice to try to face the fear. It wasn’t fair to ask Daryl to be everything that she’d once dreamed a man could be, but what if?

Carol sucked in a breath and blew it out quickly.

“It’s just a stupid text message,” she said to herself, laughing at her own nerves. She thumbed in her message, held her breath, and hit send as she blew her breath out in the same way she might have done to steady herself before something she knew was going to be painful.

“Ann. Purple. Toast.” 

After she sent the message, it was done. She relaxed a little simply because she’d done something. She’d made a move. There was no taking it back now. But, also, she’d done what Daryl had asked. She’d let him know that she was still afraid of—nearly everything, so it seemed some days. But she was interested. She wanted to try, but it was going to take time to tiptoe around all the land mines that she knew Ed had meticulously set for her.

She didn’t expect the sound of in incoming text so quickly.

“LOL what?”

Carol laughed to herself. She readjusted herself, again, and sat up. This was going to take some typing, and she couldn’t recline too completely and do that.

“My name is Carol Ann McAlister. My married name was Peletier. I’m McAlister now, but people in town still remember when I was married to Ed. I answer to Peletier when I have to. My favorite color is purple. All the purples. I had toast for dinner. You said that’s what you wanted to know.”

Daryl texted back a few moments later. He was faster at responding than Carol expected.

“Not all I wanted to know. But I’ll take it. Toast isn’t dinner.”

Carol smiled to herself.

“Cooked all day. Didn’t want to cook when I got home. What did you eat?” 

“Big piggy.”

“What?”

“LOL Big piggy. Sandwich. From Nice Rack BBQ. My brother is kind of obsessed with it right now.” 

Carol laughed to herself. She felt herself relaxing, and she might have blamed it on the wine, but she’d forgotten to drink any of her wine since the conversation started.

“I like BBQ. I like ribs, but they’re really messy.”

“Messy is good. Most of the best things are messy. Good day at work?”

“Busy. My feet are killing me. My back’s killing me. LOL Everything is killing me. How about you?” 

“I’m not dying, but it was busy. I had three different jobs, including a general job where a woman had me hanging bird feeders.” 

Carol laughed to herself.

“I didn’t realize that was part of your job.”

“Handymen do everything. What are you doing tonight?” 

“Right now, I’m soaking in the tub.” 

As soon as Carol sent the message, she felt her heart seize up. She tried to unsend it, but she could find no such option, and she knew that was because that particular feature simply didn’t exist. She typed as quickly as she could stringing together her messages in short bursts to simply keep Daryl from responding until he’d read what she had to say.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sent that. It won’t let me delete it. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t thinking.”

There was a long delay. Daryl didn’t respond. Carol wondered if the wait for some response from him was too long, or if she was only imagining the length of time that she soaked in silence because she felt embarrassed by her message. In the window of time that she waited, she imagined a number of possible responses from Daryl, but none of them were actually what she got.

“It’s OK. I don’t know why you’re sorry. Don’t know if I should be embarrassed to say it, but I bathe too. Every day. Sometimes twice. I prefer showers, but I use soap and everything. LOL.”

Carol laughed to herself.

“Fair enough. I just meant that it looks terrible. Like a cheesy porno. Especially after you said that handymen do everything.” 

“LOL. Could be worse. Are you a big fan of those?” 

“Of what?” 

“Cheesy pornos.”

“Did you really just ask me that?”

“You brought it up. I didn’t.”

Carol’s heart drummed in her chest. There was a line where things could go in one direction or another, and they were tap dancing all around that line. 

“I’ve seen a few. I wouldn’t really call myself a fan. Not really the kind of thing I enjoy watching.” 

“Me either.”

“I knew you would say that.” 

“Because you’re getting to know me?” 

“Because no man would admit to watching them.”

“I didn’t say I hadn’t never watched them. I said they weren’t what I enjoy watching.” 

Carol reminded herself that Daryl had done nothing wrong. She had no reason to believe he was lying. And, even if he was, there was no real shame in watching pornography—not beyond the cries of those who would condemn anything of a sexual nature. Carol wasn’t a fan of it, but she’d seen a few since her divorce. Most of them had come borrowed from her friends, but she knew that people watched them. They had a purpose. 

Besides, it wasn’t Daryl that had introduced porn or even bathing into the conversation. She could skim through his messages and remind herself that, technically, he’d been nothing but a gentleman in this exchange. 

She had to remind herself that, even though Ed had taught her to spend her entire life on the defensive, there was no reason to believe that Daryl was the enemy. She willed herself to relax. She drank a few swallows of her wine to help herself.

“What do you like to watch?” 

“Truth?”

“You can assume that’s all I ever want.”

“Bold statement. You willing to offer that in return?” 

“I intend to try.”

“Fair enough. Don’t laugh. Kind of embarrassing.” 

Carol was glad that Daryl wasn’t there. She laughed to herself. For whatever reason, the command not to laugh automatically made her want to laugh—even though nothing at all had been said yet. She couldn’t imagine, though, what Daryl might like to watch that could be more embarrassing than the cheesy pornos that he’d admitted to having seen, but of which he was not a fan.

“I’m not judging you.” 

“You are, but maybe not about television. I like the sappy movies.” 

“Sappy movies?” 

“You know. The ones with small towns and people falling in love. Being happy.”

Carol smiled to herself.

“Don’t be an asshole.” 

“What?”

“Don’t be an asshole. Just because I asked for the truth. What do you really watch?” 

Silence. Carol waited for a response. None came. She waited a moment longer, drank some of her wine, and watched the phone. She usually didn’t like to text this much. Michonne, Andrea, and Alice were avid texters. They could send each other two hundred- and thousand-word novels on a daily basis. Alice would almost hang up the phone with someone to text them. Carol and Jacqui usually preferred phone calls. Michonne and Andrea were flexible, depending on the person and the situation. 

Carol didn’t hate texting, per se, but she wasn’t a fan of being pendent on her phone for so long. She was usually doing a million things at once—that was how she functioned. It was how she kept her hands and her mind busy. It could be frustrating to sit and stare at her phone, quietly feeling like time and opportunity were slipping away from her.

She’d dedicated herself to the quiet relaxation of a bath, though, and really, she was welcoming this conversation while she soaked. She waited, wondering if she had offended Daryl. She wondered if she should send some sort of apology. He responded, though.

“I swear it. It’s the truth.” 

He sent a photo through—somewhat blurry like he’d moved the phone too quickly after hitting the button to capture the image. It was a television set—a rather old one, to be honest, but Carol imagined that a handyman, perhaps, could get more mileage out of things than the average person. On the screen, it was evident that Daryl was watching some kind of movie with what looked like an old-time general store at Christmas.

“You like Christmas movies?” 

“Aren’t all Christmas. This one is. She worked in New York. Her father died. She moved back to her home town to help her mother with the store. She’s going to fall in love with the guy who brings the milk from the local dairy farm, but she doesn’t know that yet.” 

“Romance movies? You watch chick flicks?”

“You said you wouldn’t laugh.”

“I’m not. I’m surprised.”

“They’re good movies. I like happy endings. And I don’t like when things have that to be continued shit. These movies start and stop. The whole thing happens in two hours.” 

“I like happy endings, too.” 

Carol smiled at the smiley face emoji that popped up.

“We got that in common.”

“We do.”

“What do you watch?” 

Carol sat and thought about it for a moment. She wasn’t sure how to respond. She accidentally slipped into a daydream, imaging Daryl on his couch, right that moment, watching a movie and waiting for the woman helping her mother to fall in love with the dairy man. She found herself oddly moved to think that something like that would appeal to Daryl. She really didn’t know him at all. There was something, though, about simply knowing what he was watching that made her feel like she knew him a bit better. She was drawn out of her daydream by the sound of her phone chiming about an incoming message. She’d daydreamed long enough that it had even gone to sleep. As soon as she unlocked it, Daryl’s messages rolled in—indicative of concern on his end. 

“Hello? Did I say something wrong? If you don’t want to say what you watch, you don’t have to.”

“I’m sorry. It isn’t that.” 

Carol paused a moment. She needed an excuse. What could she possibly say? She didn’t want to tell him that she’d just been daydreaming about him, and that’s what had led her to ignore his message for so long. 

“I got distracted.”

That was vague enough.

“It’s OK.” 

“I don’t know what I watch, really. I watch some of those movies, like you like. I like them a lot. I watch some old sitcoms. Shows I watched when I was younger. I don’t watch much television. I’m usually busy. I keep busy.” 

“I keep busy at work. I do what needs to be done at home. It’s late enough now for not being busy.”

Carol laughed to herself.

“True.”

“You have to do things when you’re not being busy. If you don’t watch television, what do you like to do?”

“I like to spend time with my friends, when I can.”

“They’re important to you”

The lack of punctuation made Carol puzzle for a second. Was it a statement or a question? Did Daryl even truly know which he intended? 

“Very much. They’ve been there for me when nobody else was.”

“It’s important to have people.”

“You have people?” 

“My brother. I have friends, but mostly it’s just me and Merle.” 

“Brothers are important, too.” 

She got another emoji in response.

“And when you aren’t with friends?” 

“I read. A lot. Do you read?” 

“Probably more than you would have give me credit for.” 

Carol smiled to herself. 

“That’s not fair. It was a question. Not a judgment.”

“I read. I like mysteries. I read a lot of magazines. But I don’t read that much. Not like you, I’m sure. Merle reads the Farmer’s Almanac a lot. Never misses the paper, either. Or those junk magazines at the grocery store. What do you read?”

“Promise not to laugh?” 

“No more than you laughed at me.” 

“Fair enough. I like romance books.”

“You mean books like my movies?” 

“Some are. Some are a bit more ridiculous.” 

“How?”

“Just are.”

Carol didn’t want to tell him that her favorite books were the bodice rippers that she could pick up for a couple of bucks at the drug store. She didn’t tell him that she liked books that were the same sexy story, over and over, with different scenarios and backdrops. 

Of course, maybe he wasn’t that wrong. Maybe a lot of them were like his movies, only they slid a little closer toward the gray edge of cheesy porno. She guessed it could be argued that she simply preferred to read her porn rather than watch it. She wasn’t going to say that. She quickly added to her text before he could pry more.

“A lot are like your movies.”

“Yeah? I wouldn’t mind reading that.” 

Carol laughed. She hummed to herself and sipped a little more of her wine. The water was getting cold and her wine was running low. Soon, she’d need to abandon the bath and refill her glass. Soon, she knew, she’d need to settle down with one of the books they were discussing and focus her mind on winding down to prepare for another Tuesday morning.

“You should try them.” 

She doubted Daryl would ever really read a romance book—even the tame ones—but she wasn’t going to tell him that. She had a strong belief that it was almost criminal to discourage anyone from reading really anything.

“Maybe I will. Why don’t you pick me one out? A good one. Highly recommended by you.”

“You really want to read one?” 

“I really do. Why don’t you pick me one out? You can bring it to your work tomorrow. I’ll pick it up. We could have coffee. Breakfast. You can tell me what it’s about.”

Carol chewed her lip. Her heart fluttered in her chest. She couldn’t help but smile to herself. She’d walked right into that one. It was a trap, and she hadn’t even seen him lay it. Still, she didn’t think she minded being caught.

“Fine.” 

“Fine?” 

“Tomorrow. Breakfast. I make excellent French toast. I could make you something else, though. Whatever you want.” 

“I love French toast.” 

“7:30 so there’s time?” 

“I’ll be there at 7:20 to be sure.” 

Carol’s heart wasn’t just fluttering in her chest. It was pounding. It was drumming so hard that she thought she could feel it knocking against her sternum like a hammer. Her stomach felt fluttery. This time, though, the nerves didn’t feel unbearable. They didn’t make her feel like she would die. 

They made her feel, as she abandoned her tub of cooling water, released the drain, and toweled off, like she wanted to skip to her bookshelf to choose a title for Daryl—and one for herself. 

“I have to go. It’s late. I usually like time to wind down. Quiet. Before I sleep.”

“I understand. Me too. I’m looking forward to breakfast.” 

She hesitated. She was almost afraid to appear too enthusiastic, though she didn’t know why or even what might be considered “too much” in this situation.

“Me too. Goodnight, Daryl.” 

“Goodnight, Carol.” 

Carol smiled at her phone. She clicked the button to make the screen go black, and she walked into her bedroom and rummaged through her pajama collection for what suited her best for the night. She wondered, glancing toward her bookshelf, if she had anything for herself that involved a handyman of sorts.


	17. Chapter 17

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Carol watched Daryl eat his French toast and drink his coffee with nothing short of what she might call passion. 

Running a café, Carol had seen every kind of customer imaginable. Daryl didn’t have the table manners someone might expect in an elite restaurant, but he was still doing better than some of the people that Carol had served. More than anything, though, he ate like he enjoyed his food. Carol liked cooking. She enjoyed feeding people. She really relished when those people truly seemed to enjoy what they were eating.

Daryl had tried to talk her into eating French toast, as well, but she’d promised him that she’d already eaten and had sat down, instead, with a cup of coffee and a bowl of fruit. He’d eyed her, suspiciously, over her declaration that she’d already had breakfast, but he didn’t push too hard. 

They had plenty of time. He’d gotten there early, and so had Carol. She’d done a soft opening up—preparing things for when Jacqui got there to finish opening the rest of the way. Then she’d made breakfast for Daryl and coffee for both of them. 

Now they were sitting outside at one of the small tables so that Carol could enjoy the fresh air, Daryl could be something of a living commercial for her café—because Carol was convinced that anyone who saw how sincerely he was enjoying his French toast would feel like it was impossible to get through their day without some, and Daryl could smoke when his meal was done. 

“You got the book?” Daryl asked, after he started slowing down—either beginning to get full or simply realizing that he was coming to the end of his plate.

Carol felt her cheeks run warm. She reached next to her for the bag that she’d hung on the back of her chair. She pulled out the book she’d selected—a well-worn paperback that she’d thumbed through at least two dozen times, and had probably bought used before that. 

“Are you sure you want to read this?” She asked.

“I asked for it, didn’t I?” Daryl commented.

“Daryl—I’m just saying that you don’t have to read this book to impress me.” 

He raised his eyebrows at her. 

“Is readin’ the book gonna impress you?” He asked. “Because I hadn’t thought about that, but if it’s part of the package, I won’t turn down the opportunity.” 

Carol rolled her eyes at him.

“Why do you want to read the book?” 

“Why wouldn’t I? Is it a bad book?” 

“No—it’s…it’s a pretty good book.”

“Funny?” 

“Sometimes. It’s sweet.” 

“I like sweet,” Daryl said. “Like this French toast. This shit’s amazin’. You said you made good French toast, but like…I don’t think you sellin’ this shit hard enough. Oughta have a sign on the door or somethin’—best damn French toast in Livin’ Springs.” 

Carol smiled to herself. 

“It’s just French toast, Daryl,” Carol said. 

Daryl sighed. He forked the last chunk of his stack of French toast, swirled it around his plate, and put the whole bite in his mouth. It was at least enough for two, maybe three, more bites. Still, he didn’t seem too bothered by the extra effort involved in chewing his way through it. He picked up his napkin, wiped his mouth and hands while he chewed, and discarded that to the side before he drank down a large gulp of coffee.

“You want more coffee?” Carol asked. “Or—I could get you more toast, if you’re not full.”

He waved at her like he was pushing her down in her chair before she could even begin to try to get up. 

“I’m good,” he said. “I’m fine. Better’n fine. You care if I smoke?” 

“No,” Carol said, shaking her head. Daryl helped himself to a cigarette, lit it, and put the pack and lighter in the middle of the table.

“In case you should decide you want one,” Daryl said. Carol thought it was a nice gesture. She didn’t want a cigarette, but there was something about the way that Daryl had offered it that appealed to something deep inside her. She felt a nervous flip in her gut, and her brain tried very hard to have a conversation with her. The feeling had come in response to what was a very minor kindness. The worst part about it was that Carol responded to it so enthusiastically because men didn’t generally pay her even the smallest of kindnesses. 

Daryl blew out the smoke from lighting his cigarette, entirely unaware that Carol was currently having a sort of crisis of self over the kindness he paid to her by simply offering her a cigarette. 

“Good French toast,” he repeated. “Good coffee.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Good company. You ought not to sell yourself short all the time.” 

Something about the comment made Carol’s stomach clench.

“I don’t,” she said. “Do I?” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“Put it this way, I ain’t been here that long, and I already noticed it,” Daryl said. “I mean—I get it. On account of what you said about your ex and all…some people can make you feel like you ain’t worth shit. And that ain’t your fault. I’m just sayin’—you oughta…consider some strengths sometimes.” 

Carol licked her lips. 

“Do you—consider your strengths often?” She asked.

Daryl raised his eyebrows at her again.

“You gonna be an asshole about it, I ain’t gonna tell you,” he said. 

“I’m not being an asshole,” Carol insisted. “I promise.”

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

“I done a couple workbooks,” Daryl said. “It’s my brother—sometimes he’ll…pick some shit up like that. Like these work on yourself or whatever books. Like you do a lesson each day. Read some shit, do some self-reflectin’ exercises.”

“Self-help books?” Carol asked. Daryl shrugged his shoulders and cleared his throat. It was very evident to Carol that she was treading dreadfully close to territory that might embarrass him. “I think that’s wonderful,” she offered carefully. Some of the visible tension that had come into Daryl’s body relaxed.

“Yeah?” He asked.

“I had a self-help book,” Carol said. “For the survivor of spousal abuse.” 

“You like it?” Daryl asked.

“To be honest? I threw it out.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“You threw it out?” He asked. Carol hummed and nodded. “Why’d you do that?” 

“It—made me uncomfortable,” Carol said. “Every time I tried to read it or to do any of the exercises? It made me uncomfortable. I put it on the shelf forever and then, one day, when I was cleaning stuff out to take to Goodwill, I just tossed it in the box. To be honest, I felt lighter getting rid of that book than I ever did reading any of those passages or doing any of those reflections.” 

“Some of that shit’s pretty damned uncomfortable,” Daryl offered. There was something in his tone that Carol couldn’t quite pinpoint. Was it just compassion? Empathy? She practically shook the curiosity out of her mind, but some of it lingered. Daryl spoke again. He was studying the table. “Maybe you just work better through that kind of thing with somebody. Some people like that, you know? Havin’ somebody to—get through it all with them.”

“I don’t know anybody else who was stupid enough to let herself stay in such a bad situation for so long,” Carol said. 

“Not stupid. People get—bogged down in shit. Stuck for one reason or another. Besides—a person don’t got to have the exact same experience to listen to you,” Daryl said. “Help—steer you toward sayin’ some affirmin’ things about yourself every now and again.” 

“Affirming things?” Carol asked. 

Daryl cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter in his chair. 

“You know—like you talk back to the shit you hear in your head. Like you hear—let’s just say you hear like—you can’t do shit right. Everything you do just…you know…just turns to shit. Say you hear that. But you would hear it and you’d say—well, that’s bullshit. It’s like—it’s what I think, maybe, but it ain’t even what I think. It’s horseshit. I fuck up—every damn day I fuck up. And a lot of what I touch might turn to shit. But, hell—don’t it for everyone? So, you come up with somethin’ affirmin’. You remind yourself of that. But you do it on purpose.” 

“Like what?” Carol asked. Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

“Like—everything don’t turn to shit,” Daryl said. “Because—I’m pretty damn good at what I do, you know? I can fix—I can fuckin’ fix anything. You give me enough time to work it out and…I’ll get it fixed. That’s not too damn bad.” 

“And that’s just it?” Carol asked. “Then it all goes away?” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“No,” Daryl said. “that’s the point, I think. It don’t never go away. None of that shit goes away. Not unless—you had like a huge ass brain eraser or somethin’ and you could just wipe everything clean and start over. But even then—you’d lose everything. Good and bad.” He shrugged again, crushed his cigarette out in the ashtray, and gnawed at his cuticle. Carol could practically see the tension rising up in his body again. She reached a hand out, wanting to somehow relieve him of some of that obvious discomfort, and touched his hand. He watched her fingers, and he looked at her when she withdrew her hand. A hint of a smile curled up the corner of his mouth. “I think the point is that it don’t go away. You just learn—how to fight back.” 

“Ed was a pretty formidable opponent,” Carol said. “I never bested him, no matter how hard I fought.” 

“Yeah, but he ain’t here,” Daryl said. “You ain’t fightin’ him. You’re fightin’—a ghost, really. One of them things I read said—they ain’t here no more, so why you lettin’ a ghost take up space in your head? You need that space for other things…like books like that one that you brung me, right?” 

Carol laughed to herself, and Daryl smiled at her sincerely. 

“Am I allowed to ask—who’s your opponent, Daryl?” He hummed in question. “Who do you fight? You know so much about it—it had to be someone.” 

Daryl nodded his head. 

“My old man,” he said. 

“I’m sorry,” Carol said. Daryl nodded his head again.

“Thanks,” he said, reaching for another cigarette. “And I’m sorry about—about your ex, for all the good it does either one of us.” He pointed toward the book, and Carol understood that he wanted to change the subject. Honestly, she had no reason to want to linger any longer, either, on the unpleasantness that was her failed marriage. She felt sorry for what had happened to Daryl—throughout at least some portion of his childhood—but she understood his not wanting to linger over it during breakfast.

Carol passed him the book and he studied the cover of it, flipped through the pages, and flipped it over to look at the back before he put it down on the table in front of him.

“So, tell me about it,” Daryl said. 

Carol smiled to herself.

“What do you want me to tell you?” She asked.

“What’s it about?” Daryl asked. 

“It’s—a romance book” Carol said. “It’s not like—one of the heavy bodice rippers or anything.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“The fuck does that mean?” He asked. Carol’s face felt hot.

“Sex,” she said, lowering her voice and leaning toward him, even though there was nobody near them.

“What about it?” He waved the book at her and smirked. “There’s like—what, porn in here?”

“No,” Carol said. “Not—exactly. Not in that one.” 

“But in some of ‘em?” 

“This one’s less detailed than some of them,” Carol said.

“You didn’t want me to have one of the fun ones?” Daryl asked with a snort. 

“If you think it’s boring and you don’t want to read it,” Carol said.

“Don’t get your panties twisted,” Daryl said. “I was playin’ with you. I wanna read the book. I just—weren’t expectin’ that. I don’t know what I expected. Like those movies, I guess. There’s hardly any sex in them. Just—love.” 

“It’s like your movies,” Carol said. “A little sex, but mostly just love. This one’s a western. They—find each other and that’s really all they need. He has a ranch and her father works in town at the general store. Unless—you don’t like westerns.” 

“I like westerns fine,” Daryl offered. “What made you pick this one, though?” 

“What?” Carol asked.

“Well—you got more books, don’t you?” 

“A lot more,” Carol ceded.

“So, what made you pick this one? You looked at all them books, and you picked this one. What was it that made you pick this one?” 

“I don’t know,” Carol admitted. “It’s—one of my favorites.” 

“Why?” Daryl pressed. Carol laughed to herself. She shrugged her shoulders. “You gettin’ embarrassed? There ain’t shit to be embarrassed about. I just wanna know—why’s it one of your favorites. That’s all.” 

Carol sighed.

“Because—I guess, because I thought it was really romantic.” 

“Good enough for me,” Daryl said. “The next one you lend me, though, I’m requestin’ one of those ripper things, just to see.” 

Carol laughed to herself. 

“You want to read a bodice ripper?” Carol asked.

“Hell yeah I do,” Daryl said.

“I thought you…weren’t a fan of cheesy pornos,” Carol said.

“Thought you weren’t, neither,” Daryl countered.

“Touché,” Carol said. “I guess—it’s different. It’s—there’s sex, but…it’s more about romance than just sex. But, Daryl, even that one—and it’s not very detailed—they’re written really more for women, I think, than they are for men.” 

“So, men can’t read ‘em?” Daryl asked. 

“Of course you can read them, it’s just…”

“Just what?” 

“It’s more like—what a woman would want,” Carol said. 

Daryl held her eyes for a moment and offered her a soft smile. 

“How do you know that ain’t what I wanna read about?” Daryl asked.

Carol’s heart drummed in her chest, picking up speed. 

“I really should—start helping Jacqui get ready,” Carol said. 

“I’ma go—start this book,” Daryl said. “Before work.” 

“You don’t have to read it,” Carol insisted. 

“I want to,” Daryl said. “Thank you for the French toast. And the coffee. And the book…hell… and the company and conversation. All so good—I’d be hard pressed to say which part…which part was the best.” 

Carol’s face ran warm again. She stood up, as did Daryl. He stood in front of her for a moment. 

“You want to—tell me when you’ve finished the book?” Carol asked. 

“Thought maybe I could—talk to you while I was readin’ it,” Daryl said. “Just—if I got ideas or somethin’. It’s more fun to read a book with someone to talk to, ain’t it?” 

Carol’s stomach flipped, and her heart continued to pound. Another trap, and she’d walked right in. Still, she didn’t want to close the door—not even if her anxiety might tell her it was best to close it and put the padlock on.

“You can talk to me about the book any time,” she said. 

“Good,” Daryl said. He held his hand up, like he was beckoning her to wait. “I know I’ve already pushed it—too damn far, maybe. But..if I were to kiss you, and I’m not sayin’ I’ma do that…but…if I were to kiss you, would you run away screamin’?” 

Carol’s heart slammed to a screeching halt before it began thundering wildly again. She was happy that she hadn’t eaten anything, because her stomach twisted in response. 

“I wouldn’t run away screaming,” she offered.

Daryl stepped closer to her and raised the hand not holding the book to touch her face. He brushed his fingertips down her face to her jaw. He tipped her face up and Carol closed her eyes. There was no way he couldn’t tell that her breathing was ragged. He could probably hear her heart beat.

He pressed his lips to hers, gently, and released her almost immediately, his fingertips lingering just a beat longer on her face than his lips had lingered on her lips. He smiled at her when she opened her eyes. 

“Text me about the book, Daryl,” Carol said. 

“Damn sure will,” Daryl said, waving the book. “I can’t hardly wait to start it.”


	18. Chapter 18

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Merle slammed down the metal thermos about ten times harder than he had any right to do. It clanged loudly, shook the whole table, and startled Daryl.

“Fuckin’ asshole,” Daryl declared as his brother and Axel both sat down, laughing.

“Don’t be that way, lil’ brother,” Merle said with a laugh. “I was just checkin’ your ticker for you. Good damn news, Daryl. It’s still workin’.”

Both men started to unwrap the food that they’d brought from whatever locations they’d visited on their way back to the business “headquarters” to rest and eat lunch in peace. It was almost always worth it to make the trip back there to eat at the table under the little shed because, if they ate on the job, or nearly anywhere else in public, it seemed that they were always getting bombarded with requests and questions that kept a meal from being truly enjoyed or digested well.

Daryl had finished his job a little early and, since it was almost lunch time, Tyreese had told him to go ahead and count the extra fifteen minutes toward his job and just enjoy his lunch. Daryl had used the fifteen minutes to pick up food and to drop into the dollar store to make a quick couple of purchases. He’d hurried back to work to settle in at the table and take advantage of his quiet time as much as possible.

Seeing that two noisiest sons of bitches in the state of Georgia had settled in to join him, he slipped his pen into the notebook, closed it, and shoved the dollar store receipt into the book to mark his page before he finally unwrapped his own lunch. Daryl checked under the bun of his cheeseburger, as he often did, and was satisfied that it was prepared just the way that he’d ordered it—extra pickles and everything.

“The fuck you doin’, brother?” Merle asked.

“Lookin’ to see if they put the ketchup on this shit,” Daryl said. “Last week, they was rushin’ everybody around and I damn near didn’t get even a patty on the bun.” 

He bit into the burger and chewed through it with some satisfaction. He had two burgers to get through, but he’d skipped the fries so he figured that evened things out in the end. 

“I weren’t talkin’ about your damn food, brother,” Merle said, clearly having chosen barbecue, yet again, for his lunch, even though he was a man who would loudly crow—to anyone who would listen to his performances— about not settling down because he couldn’t stand to be tied to the same thing for a long time and needed variety. “The fuck is all that shit?” 

“Looks like you doin’ homework,” Axel mused from his spot at the table. “You got homework, Daryl?” 

“So what if I do?” Daryl asked. “Some of us like to expand our minds instead of lettin’ ‘em shrink down like raisins until they’re liable to just—fall right the fuck outta your ear and roll away one night.”

Merle snorted at the thought of Axel’s raisin brain escaping him, but he wasn’t distracted for long. 

“What the hell you doin’ for real?” Merle asked.

Daryl shrugged.

“Homework, Merle,” Daryl said. 

“You didn’t do homework when your ass was in school,” Merle said. “That’s why the hell you damn near didn’t graduate.” 

“And you were the valedictorian?” Daryl asked. 

Merle laughed to himself. 

“I graduated, didn’t I? Besides—it weren’t not doin’ my homework that damn near got me kicked outta school. Hell—I could do all my homework ‘fore I left the damn buildin’. No—it was never bein’ there that damn near got my ass in trouble. What the hell’d they call it? Truant?” 

“Damn delinquent is what your sorry ass was,” Daryl said.

Merle was pleased with the memory of himself as a chain smoking and truant teenager, but it didn’t last long. For someone who could conveniently forget every chore that Daryl asked him to do around the house, Merle had a memory like an elephant when it suited him.

“Since I know your ass ain’t doin’ homework, what the hell you doin’?” 

“Readin’, Merle,” Daryl said. “I’m readin’. You know. With a book. Lookin’ at the words on the page. Lettin’ ‘em make pictures in my head. Literate people can do that shit.” 

“Smart ass,” Merle said with a laugh. “I read all the damn time.” 

“Skin magazines don’t count as readin’,” Axel said around a mouthful of food. “I don’t think.” 

“It does if you read the articles an’ don’t just look at the tits. Besides—I read the Reader’s Digest. I like the Farmer’s Almanac, too. I read some of them—them crime novels. The ones like who done it books. I can’t stand that shit, though, if it’s too damn predictable.” 

“They twice as predictable if you do what you do and read the last chapter first, Merle,” Daryl pointed out. Merle laughed to himself.

“If I don’t know who the hell done it, how am I gonna know if I’m guessin’ right and it’s too damn predictable? If I don’t look, I could read all the damn way to the end and realize I wasted my time ‘cause I figured out the killer like two chapters in.” 

“You readin’ some kinda mystery?” Axel asked. “Takin’ notes so you can solve it or something?” 

“It ain’t a mystery,” Daryl said. He laughed to himself. “Hell—I might be usin’ that shit to solve some kinda mystery, though.” 

“What is it?” Axel asked.

“Western,” Daryl said. 

“With tits all over it,” Merle said, leaning to get a good look at the cover of the book. “And some kinda ridiculous lookin’ cowboy. Daryl—what the hell you readin’?” Daryl wished he’d flipped the book over to be cover-down, but he figured there was no sense in running from the inevitable for too long.

“It’s a romantic book,” Daryl admitted.

“Damn, boy,” Merle mused. “If you that hard up, we can find you some pussy somewhere. Your ass don’t gotta just read about it.” 

“Believe it or not,” Daryl said, “there’s more things in life than pussy, Merle.” 

“The hell you say,” Merle mused. “I don’t believe it. At the end of the day, it all comes down to pussy. The whole damn world. Wouldn’t be no world if it weren’t for pussies, so it stands to reason they’re like the—like the—well, hell…I guess pussy’s like the real fuckin’ meanin’ of life, brother.”

Daryl rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“He isn’t wrong,” Axel offered.

“The hell would you know about it, Axel?” Daryl asked with a laugh. “When’s the last time you even saw one?”

“I wouldn’t go barkin’ at Axel just ‘cause you saw one the other week,” Merle said. “You ain’t seen one in years, and she ain’t let you near it again, so you don’t know how long that taste’s gotta hold you.” 

“It ain’t all about pussy, Merle,” Daryl reiterated. “It’s about—conversation. Romancin’. Interaction. Breakfast, even.”

“And if you lucky,” Merle said, “breakfast comes after pussy. And if you real lucky, then I reckon it comes before pussy, too.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

His brother was a tried and true pig, just as surely as was the animal that had provided him with lunch. However, Daryl knew Merle well enough to know that a great deal of Merle’s words were just that—words. He liked to run his mouth. He liked the shock that his words got from people. Merle may believe some nugget of what he said, but most of Merle’s words were just a performance, of sorts.

“Your ass talks a big talk,” Daryl said, “for someone who’s damn near run every piece of pussy that he ever got outta the house before the sun come up.” 

Merle laughed to himself. He shrugged his shoulders. 

“You run it off or it’ll run itself off,” he mused, this time being a little more sincere and a little less seeped in false bravado. 

“Maybe,” Daryl ceded in agreement, opening his second burger and checking the condiments. “Maybe not. Guess that depends on the woman attached to the pussy. That’s when it’s better to have a greater vision of the whole damn picture and the whole damn woman, right?” 

Merle smiled to himself. He laughed, quietly, and returned to eating his barbecue sandwich that had been somewhat neglected.

“What are you writin’ while you’re reading your book?” Axel asked. “I never write things down while I’m reading.” 

“Takin’ notes,” Daryl said, accepting that it was just easier to answer questions than to try to dodge them.

“Notes about what?” Merle asked, snorting quietly.

Daryl raised his eyebrows at his brother.

“For those of us who are interested in more than pussy—like the whole damn package? This shit is a motherfuckin’ goldmine of information.” 

“What you mean?” Axel asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

“You wantin’ to know about—what the hell do women really want or what do they like? It’s all right here. It ain’t no grand ass mystery like every asshole would have you believe. We’ve got like—thousands—of these books just takin’ up racks in every store your ass walks into and nobody’s payin’ ‘em no attention, but it’s all here.”

“What’s in there?” Axel asked. “Like—what you mean?” 

“Kinds of compliments and stuff,” Daryl said. “The stuff that he says to her that doesn’t ever piss her off—gets…gets this author talkin’ about her feelin’ like it’s hard to breathe and she’s gettin’ dizzy and shit. You can see right there what’s the best kinds of things to say. And I’ma give you a hint, Merle. I haven’t seen this asshole say one damn thing about this woman’s pussy and I’ve been reading this every chance I’ve had since this morning. I’m already in chapter three.” 

“If you’re in chapter three,” Merle mused, “and that asshole ain’t got no pussy yet, then it means it ain’t a very good educational type book, brother. Seems to me that you been doin’ alright not gettin’ pussy on your own—without all the studying.” 

Daryl rolled his eyes at Merle.

“Where’s all this pussy you’re rollin’ in?” Daryl asked. He didn’t miss his brother’s slightly fallen expression. Daryl could see through all of Merle’s bullshit the same as he could see through a clean glass window. It was all for show, but Daryl wasn’t in the mood for performances—and he wasn’t in the mood for competing with them.

The one comment, though, from Daryl was enough to make Merle sulk—and Daryl knew why.

“A man that can have his choice of pussy don’t gotta settle for the first piece that lands at his feet,” Merle mumbled, his mouth half full of barbecue that he appeared to have lost his taste for eating.

Daryl sighed.

“Just call her ass, Merle,” Daryl said. “You been mopin’ around the damn house for days like a dog that’s been kicked. Starin’ out the door and shit like you expect her to come walkin’ up the damn driveway to ask you to let her back in. Just fuckin’ call her.” 

“Call who?” Axel asked.

“The woman that he picked up on Friday,” Daryl said.

“Farrah Fawcett,” Merle said. 

“You slept with Farrah Fawcett for real, Merle?” Axel asked.

“You know, Axel,” Daryl mused, “some damn times, you’re about as dense as packed mud. Merle didn’t fuck Farrah Fawcett. Hell—I didn’t see her, but I’m willing to bet the only thing she had in common with the woman is that she was blonde.” 

Merle frowned at him.

“She was better lookin’ than Farrah Fawcett,” Merle informed his big piggy sandwich. 

“That just about knocked me off my chair, Merle,” Daryl said. “I’ve known you my whole life and there’s never been a woman that could even come close to your precious Farrah. Now you come here sayin’ she was better?” 

Merle shrugged his shoulders and frowned at the remains of his food.

“Better tits an’ ass,” he said, somewhat mournfully. “Voluptuous—that’s the right word for it.”

“You learn that in one of your crosswords?” Daryl asked. Daryl hummed at him, but it was clear that Merle wasn’t currently in a joking mood. “If she’s that fuckin’ voluptuous, why the hell won’t you fuckin’ call her? I just about can’t stand you with the way you been mopin’ around and twistin’ up that little scrap with her phone number.” 

Daryl already knew, deep down in his gut, the answer to his own question. His big brother was scared. He was terrified because the blonde, in some way, was better than Farrah Fawcett. More than likely, she was better than the actress because she was real—tangible. And, for one night, Merle had known her. Merle—for all his bravado and his skill at being an asshole—had never handled criticism or rejection well. Not after how their father had treated him. He was extremely sensitive to those two things and, for that reason, though he’d never admit it, he’d created the persona, for himself, of being a completely calloused asshole.

Merle was afraid, and the only way to keep himself from getting hurt, was to keep his distance.

Daryl was starting to realize that there was a whole damn lot of that in the world. 

Life was short, though, and the clock was ticking for all of them. It had been ticking for Merle ten years longer than it had for Daryl.

Merle was eyeing him with warning. Axel was watching the whole thing with a great deal of interest. Axel would jump in and heckle someone just to go along with someone else—he was particularly good at following Merle’s lead—and to fit in, but he wouldn’t just engage in that behavior alone. Merle’s feelings were safe for now—and he didn’t know that Daryl had already copied down the number, while Merle was sleeping, from the little scrap of paper that he’d been carrying around like a security blanket. Daryl was certain, without a doubt, that it was tucked safely, at that very moment, into Merle’s wallet. 

“Forget it,” Daryl said. “I don’t want to talk to you no more. You do what the hell you wanna do. Or don’t. Go lookin’ for more pussy if it tickles your fancy. Hell—you still got twenty-five minutes for lunch. You could prob’ly run get you a piece right now.” 

The change in subject clearly relieved Merle, and he perked back up a bit more.

“Ain’t in the mood for no pussy right now,” he said as a way of dismissing the comment, and also avoiding the truth about the fact that he was too busy pining over one woman, in particular, to want to think about any other. “But I could go for a Buddy Bar. You wanna get a soft serve, brother?” 

“Wanna read my damn book is what I wanna do,” Daryl said. “But you two won’t get outta here and shut up so I can concentrate.” 

Merle laughed to himself. He reached over and clapped Daryl roughly on the shoulder—a sign of pure affection from his older brother—and rocked Daryl’s whole body.

“Alright, boy,” Merle said. “You got it. You read your little book.” He pushed up from the table and cleared his trash, grabbing Daryl’s as he went. “Come on, Axel. I’ll spot your ass a Buddy Bar, too.”

Axel quickly scrambled out of his seat and followed Merle. Merle threw the trash away in the large trash can, with Axel on his heels, and stopped a moment before heading toward the truck that they’d take to the Dairy-O. Axel went on ahead, leaving the brothers alone for a moment. 

“I hope you find what you lookin’ for in that book, brother,” Merle said. “Get—whatever it is you wanna get out of it. Mean it.” 

Daryl smiled to himself and nodded his head in the direction of his brother.

“Thanks,” Daryl said. “I do, too. And—I hope…you let yourself have what the hell you want, brother. I mean that, too.” 

Merle hummed at him, but he didn’t say anything else. Instead, he simply nodded his head and turned, walking quickly toward the truck where Axel was waiting, lighting a cigarette as he went. 

Daryl lit a cigarette for himself, opened his notebook, and then opened the book to find the spot where he’d wedged the receipt. 

The book wasn’t bad, and he’d have plenty to talk about with Carol later—though he was sure he’d find to sneak in another text message or two that evening.


	19. Chapter 19

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl entered the phone number into an open text message and sat staring at his phone for a moment. He reminded himself that he loved his brother and, throughout his life, Merle had always needed a little help in situations when he was frozen against helping himself. He’d come through for Daryl, countless times, when Daryl needed him to do something, so Daryl figured he owed Merle a few when it came to helping him get what the hell he needed out of life.

“Are you Living Springs’ Farrah Fawcett?”

Daryl didn’t have to wait long for a response to appear.

“Who is this?” 

“Is this the right number? Did you meet up with someone on Friday? Might have called you Farrah Fawcett?” 

“Merle?” 

Daryl smiled to himself. 

“Gotcha,” he said out loud, before he returned to texting.

“Are you interested in more than Friday night?” 

“Is this a booty call?” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Not unless that’s what you want. Is that what you want?” 

There was a long silence. The dots danced, disappeared, danced again, disappeared…maybe this woman was perfect for Merle. It seemed she neither wanted to commit to her desire for a booty call, nor did she want to commit to saying that she wasn’t interested in such a thing. Daryl decided to help her out.

“I’m saying that ain’t all it’s gotta be. If you are interested. Are you interested?”

“I gave you my number for a reason.”

Daryl nodded his head at the woman’s response.

“Fair enough. This is Merle’s brother. Merle’s a little bit of a chickenshit. He’s wanting to see you again.” 

Dancing dots. A lot of dancing dots that danced for a long time. Daryl lit a cigarette and watched the dots, figuring that he was going to have a novel to read when the message finally came through. He was surprised to see that what he got didn’t really merit the amount of time that it had taken to write it.

“Why isn’t he texting me, then?” 

“Because he’s a chickenshit. He’s not sure you’re really interested. His ass don’t do good with subtle. You gotta be real obvious. Blunt. Merle ain’t the type to take a chance on something that ain’t a sure thing.” 

“He didn’t have a problem Friday night.”

“One night’s one thing. I won’t tell you do or don’t one way or another. I’m just letting you know what you can do if you’re interested. If you don’t want to, that’s OK, too. Have a great life. Merle’s just too chickenshit to take a chance, even if he wants to.”

“You think he wants to?” 

Daryl smiled to himself. 

“I know it.”

Daryl rounded out his conversation with the woman—whoever she may be—by giving her their address in case she couldn’t recall it. He chose a time when Merle was likely to be home, sure that he could make himself scarce, and gave it to her. Merle could spook himself into backing out of a phone call, but Daryl knew he wouldn’t run if he was face to face with the woman again, and he told her as much. If she was bold enough to make a move, she could. Daryl had no doubt that Merle would respond. He’d been damn near grieving since she’d left. Still, Daryl knew Merle well enough to know that he wasn’t going to trust that anyone would want him beyond the one night, and he wasn’t going to be the one that got left behind when someone ran off. If she was bold enough to leave no question about her interest, though, she just might get Merle to eat from her hand—especially since it was clear that he so desperately wanted what she had on offer.

When Daryl figured that he’d done all he could do to set the wheel in spin—however the hell things may end up—he closed out the message with Merle’s Better-Than-Farrah-Fawcett and opened the last conversation he’d had with Carol. He smiled to himself as he reread some of the previous conversation. Then he washed down the remains of his cigarette with a few swallows of beer before grabbing another out of the fridge and lighting himself a new cigarette.

Settled in his chair, he texted her.

“Just thought we could talk a little about the book if you got time.” 

Daryl’s heart drummed hard in his chest. His hands shook slightly. Each message, he recognized, could be the moment that Carol simply said “you know what? I don’t want to do this” and that could be the end of it. The fact that she hadn’t said that, yet, actually surprised Daryl a great deal and probably contributed to the level of nerves that he felt with each message he sent. Each one, after all, seemed to increase the likelihood that she would finally be tired of him.

“I don’t think I can text tonight.” 

Daryl’s heart plummeted into his gut. 

“Something wrong?” He asked, dreading the answer.

There was a delay, but finally her message came through.

“No. Hands full.” 

Daryl blew out a breath. Full hands were something he could handle.

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Carol smiled to herself when she saw Daryl’s name flash across her screen as her ringtone blared, startling her. For a half a second, her stomach lurched at the thought that simply the word “Daryl” had made her smile. She didn’t linger too long with the thought, though, before she dried her hand quickly, answered the call and, setting the phone on speaker, rested the phone beside her.

“You’re on speaker,” she said, returning to her work.

“Hey to you, too,” Daryl said with a laugh.

Carol smiled to herself. 

“Hey. You’re on speaker.” 

“You got company? I don’t wanna interrupt nothing.” 

“No company,” Carol said. “It’s just my hands are full.”

“Am I allowed to ask what you’re doing?” 

“Cutting up fruit,” Carol said. “And vegetables. Lots of it. For tomorrow.” 

“What happens tomorrow?” 

“We’re trying some new omelet recipes at the café,” Carol said. “And we’re going to try some fresh fruit desserts, too. I’m going in early to start getting things ready so I can run things by the Glory Gals before we open. I want some opinions before I start a day menu.” 

“Glory Gals?” Daryl asked. “That like some investors or…?” 

“My friends, remember? I think I told you about them at dinner.”

“Didn’t remember you had a name,” Daryl said. “That make you like an MC?” 

“MC?” 

“Club,” Daryl said. “Like—for bikes. Motorcycles.” 

“More like the Pink Ladies from Grease,” Carol said with a laugh. “Without the greasers and so much dancing and singing.” 

“You mean there’s some dancing and singing?” Daryl asked.

Carol laughed to herself. 

“Only when there’s enough alcohol involved,” she offered.

“Fair enough. Listen—I’m about halfway through Shopkeeper’s Daughter, so you better start gettin’ together what you’re gonna bring me to read next.”

“You haven’t read that much of it.” 

“Cross my heart. I gotta ask, though—what’s your favorite part?” 

“I have a lot of favorite parts,” Carol said. “Some you haven’t even gotten to yet. But—I think I’d rather know your favorite part.” 

“That’s how it’s always gonna go?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I’m gonna ask you what you like and you’re gonna turn it around on me? That’s how it’s always gonna go?” 

“Maybe I just want to know if you’ve read it,” Carol challenged.

“Oh—I read it. At least half of it, anyway. OK. Fair enough. You wanna know my favorite part? At least—so far.” Carol hummed in the affirmative and Daryl cleared his throat. “You gonna make fun of me?” 

“I wouldn’t ever,” Carol said. Her chest tightened and her stomach did the same odd flip that it had done several times during this conversation. She meant what she said. She wouldn’t make fun of him. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. And, not that she would make fun of anyone and attempt to hurt their feelings, but the level of concern that she felt for Daryl’s feelings made her just a little bit nervous.

“My favorite part is where Miles goes to Janie’s daddy and he’s just telling him that he’s gonna marry Janie, one day, with or without his blessing, but that he’d like to have his blessing on account of the fact that it’s gonna be better for their family. My other favorite part, though, is where Janie’s just telling Miles everything they’re gonna have together once they’re married, you know? The whole—damn dozen of kids to work their farm and the house and chickens.”

“You have been reading it.” 

“I told you I have. I don’t lie. I might fuck up because I tell too much of the truth, but I don’t lie. What’s your favorite part. I told you mine.” 

Carol laughed to herself. 

“I showed you mine,” she said. “It’s always that.” 

“If it weren’t, you wouldn’t tell me a damn thing ever.” 

“I like those parts,” Carol said. “The ones you mentioned. I like a lot of what you haven’t gotten to yet even more than the beginning. One of my favorite parts, early in the book, is where they’re dancing. When they first meet and they’re dancing.” 

“Why?” Daryl asked.

“What?” 

“Is it because you like to dance?” Daryl asked.

“I just think it’s romantic,” Carol said. “The whole scene. I don’t know if I like to dance. I’ve never really done it before. Not like that.” 

“You said there was dancin’ with the Golden Girls,” Daryl said.

“Glory Gals,” Carol corrected with a laugh. 

“Sorry.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Carol said. “We’re not that old, yet. And—that’s different. It’s like—dancing around the kitchen or the living room and just being silly. The only time I’ve ever danced, danced was…when I married Ed. We had the first—you know, the first dance. The only dance.”

“Why the only one?” 

Carol sighed.

“He was angry about something someone said at the reception or…maybe something I did,” Carol said. “It should have been a red flag that we couldn’t even get through the reception without a fight. I don’t want to talk about that, Daryl…OK?” 

“Whatever you want,” Daryl said. “You wanna talk about it, I’ll hear it. You don’t wanna talk about it? There’s plenty other shit to talk about. You—got somethin’ in particular you might want to talk about?” 

Carol thought about the invitation for a moment. 

Ed never asked her what she wanted to talk about—much like he never asked her what she wanted, period. He wasn’t very interested in what she wanted. And, as their marriage had trudged on toward its final ending, he hadn’t been very interested in talking to Carol at all. He’d preferred yelling. Of course, Carol hadn’t been very interested in talking to Ed, either. Talking to Ed only led to fights—and fights, with Ed, got out of hand very quickly.

Daryl was sincere, though, and Carol’s stomach twisted a little to think that she’d probably talked to Daryl more, since she met him, than she’d talked to Ed in a whole year of marriage. 

“There is something,” Carol said, her stomach knotting, untangling, and knotting again as she faced actually putting voice to what she was thinking.

“Go ahead,” Daryl said.

“Why are you talking to me right now?” 

There was silence. Then a burst of laughter. It wasn’t sincere laughter. It was nervous laughter.

“Whatta you mean?” Daryl asked. “You don’t like talkin’ to me?” 

“I didn’t say that,” Carol said. “And it isn’t that…I mean—I told you about Ed. My failed marriage. Why aren’t you…married?” 

Silence again. Then the sound of Daryl blowing air out. It was a little distant, like he moved the phone away from his face for a moment. He returned.

“You go straight for it, don’t you?” He asked. 

“I’m sorry.” 

Daryl laughed quietly.

“No—don’t be. I mean, shit was bound to come up, right? Might be a decent length story, though. Right? Tell you what—why don’t we save it?” 

Carol smiled to herself.

“For when you talk me into having breakfast with you again?” She teased.

“Not breakfast,” Daryl said. “This ain’t the kinda question you answer over breakfast. Dinner. Friday night. I’ll grill a couple steaks to go with all these cattle I’ve been readin’ about. Answer your question. Maybe we can discuss the book some more, since I know I’ll be finished by then.” 

“Dinner. At your house?” Carol asked.

“Or yours,” Daryl said. “Wherever you’ll be more comfortable. I can grill the steaks and bring ‘em if you want.” 

Carol focused on her own breath for a moment. Her hands were shaking, and she stopped slicing fruit until she trusted her hands more. She scratched her nose by rubbing it with her wrist—not wanting to get sticky juice all over her face. 

“I have a grill,” Carol said. “I never use it, but…the guy who sold it to me at Lowe’s said it’s a good one.”

“Perfect,” Daryl said. “I’ll bring some charcoal.” 

“I can make baked potatoes. A nice salad?”

“Sounds good to me.” 

“Can I ask you something else, Daryl? Something that—doesn’t have to wait until Friday?” 

“Whatever you want.” 

“Are you going to do this every time we talk?” 

“Do what?” 

“Talk me into—another time?” 

Quiet laughter.

“As many times as you let me,” Daryl offered sincerely. “You don’t wanna have dinner, we don’t got to. At the end of the day, it’s up to you.” 

“I want to have dinner,” Carol said. 

“Good,” Daryl said. “Because—I sure as shit do too. Maybe—I’ll see you before Friday, though.”

“Oh?” 

“Drop in for coffee,” Daryl said. “Before work. Day after tomorrow. Return your book. Maybe—you could have me a couple more to borrow?” 

“You want to borrow more books?” 

“Your favorites,” Daryl said. “Hell—fast as I’m gettin’ through this—four or five, even. I don’t care if they’re like this or the…cheesy porn variety. Whatever the hell you like the best. Surprise me.” 

“You don’t have to do that, Daryl,” Carol protested.

“That’s the thing,” Daryl said. “Neither one of us has gotta do anything—none of this. And maybe my ass is gonna regret sayin’ this shit but…I give my brother a speech about carpe the damn diem today and I’d be a hypocrite not to take my own advice so…we don’t gotta do this, but I’m enjoyin’ it.”

Carol’s heart thundered in her chest. Her head swam a little with an unfamiliar lightness. Her stomach tangled around itself. She thought, even, that her knees might not keep her standing there at her kitchen sink. 

Still, she sucked in a breath and gathered up her courage—her body making her feel more like she was going to face a hungry bear than to simply say a few words to Daryl.

“Me too,” she breathed out.


	20. Chapter 20

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

This chapter might need a Merle being Merle warning. LOL

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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In a lot of ways, Merle felt responsible for his baby brother. He’d never asked for the bouncing bundle of snot, shit, and piss, but that had been exactly what he’d gotten. At ten, Merle was already a “bad kid” to most people who knew him. He was a good for nothing Dixon to most people who didn’t know him.

Good or bad, Merle had always done whatever the hell he wanted. His old man was going to beat him, one way or another, so he always figured he might as well make himself happy, however he could, in the intervals between rounds. 

Merle’s mama had been sweet. Too sweet, really, for the life she’d ended up with. It was the being sweet that killed her, Merle figured. Not the beatings or the alcohol. Not even the fire that burned her ass away to absolute nothingness. Merle always figured it was the being sweet that really did it.

Maybe that’s why Merle had always done his best to look out for Daryl. 

Somewhere, in Merle, he knew there was a streak of his mama. There was a streak of his daddy, too. He kept the streak of his mama, but he kept it deep. Contained. So the sweetness didn’t let the world get to him too damn much. The streak of their mama that ran through Daryl was two counties wide, though, and there was barely enough of the old man to keep Merle from occasionally wondering if their mama had let the mailman, or someone, get a piece of ass for the escape from her shitshow life it might have offered. Daryl had some of their old man, though, in appearance, and the streak of Dixon came out when he was really pressed to show it, so Merle figured that his mama hadn’t quite given the old man the run around—though he couldn’t blame her if she had.

Daryl had always been the sweet one, so Merle had looked out for him as best he could, ever since he’d been ten and Daryl had been a squirmy little thing that Merle had, at first, thought looked like he’d been boiled or something.

Merle hadn’t intended on living with his brother for the rest of his life, but life didn’t turn out like you thought it would. Really, Daryl wasn’t bad company, and they lived pretty well together. They liked a lot of the same things, and they didn’t argue—that was the most important part. They were able, at this point in their lives, to say that most of the stupid shit they might have argued about when they were younger just didn’t matter anymore.

They both liked when life was just fucking easy because it had been too hard, for too much time, already.

“Trout basket,” Merle said just as soon as Daryl came in the door. 

“The fuck did you say?” Daryl asked.

Merle laughed to himself.

“Trout basket,” Merle said. “I’m drawin’ up a blank.” 

Daryl put down the bag that he was carrying. Merle didn’t have to ask what he’d brought in. The smell hit his nostrils and immediately made his stomach growl. He meant to inquire about the food, but Daryl spoke before he could.

“How many letters?” 

“Five,” Merle said. “Last word. Oughta be easy. Gotta C, two blanks, an E, and an L.”

“Creel,” Daryl said quickly and without hesitation.

“Damn—was you sittin’ on that one, Daryl?” Merle mused. Daryl laughed in response. 

“You taught me that shit. You goin’ senile, Merle?” 

Merle hummed to himself. He finished up his crossword puzzle, closed the book, and reached behind him to put the book and the ball point pen on the bar so that he’d know where it was when he started looking for it again.

“Might be,” he mused. “Might just be. Actually, might just—head on down to Salty’s later.” 

“On a Wednesday, Merle?” Daryl asked.

Merle laughed to himself and stretched.

“Any pussy at a bar on a Wednesday night is a sure fuckin’ thing, Daryl,” Merle mused. “Middle of the week—there ain’t no specials. She knows what the hell she’s there for, I promise your ass that.”

Daryl lit a cigarette and leaned against the counter so that he could flick ashes into the sink.

“And that’s all that matters, ain’t it, Merle?” Daryl mused.

There was something in Daryl’s tone—some trace of amusement on his features—that made Merle’s stomach uncomfortable for a moment. Merle lit himself a cigarette, but decided to use the ashtray on the table like a civilized person. He got up long enough to grab himself a beer out of the fridge, and then he sat down again and twisted the lid off, dropping it next to the ashtray.

“I’ve heard tell that if you don’t bust a nut often enough, your brain gets backed up,” Merle said. “You’ll lose your memory ‘cause you’re too damn full of junk—gotta get it out to clear your head.” He laughed to himself at Daryl’s expression. “Damn, boy. Come to think of it, it’s a wonder you even know where the hell the house is.” 

“Fuck you,” Daryl offered with a snort. 

“It’s true,” Merle said. “Ideally, you should come at least once a day, Daryl. Good for your overall health, they say. You remember that article.” 

“I do,” Daryl said. “Also said that focusin’ solely on pleasurin’ a woman would give you good concentration.” 

“And teach your ass patience,” Merle said with a laugh. “Don’t you worry about me, brother. Rule number one is the lady comes first—unless that shit just can’t be avoided. Then she comes second and your ass remembers that you been off the horse too long.” 

Daryl glanced at his phone and turned it over on the counter next to him.

“You ever think about—what the hell it might be like to know that’cha gonna come with the same damn woman every time?” Daryl asked. “Like—forever?” 

“You talkin’ about marriage?” Merle asked. Daryl hummed and nodded. They’d talked about everything in their lives. If you lived with someone pretty much forever, you got around to talking about every single thing, just about, that two people could discuss. Sometimes, like in the case of women, you talked about the same thing nearly every day. Marriage was no strange topic to either of them—yet they came back to it often…nearly as often as they got on the topic of women. “Your lil’ sweet thang got your ass thinkin’ about marriage, boy?” 

“I’m just askin’ if you ever thought about it,” Daryl said. “Somethin’ besides the flavor of the night at Salty’s, Merle.” 

Merle laughed to himself. 

“I told you before,” Merle mused, lighting himself another cigarette. “And I’ll tell you again. There’s too damn much Dixon in me. The way I am. The shit I like. Ain’t no damn woman like that shit but a real fuckin’ hellcat. And the best thing you can do with a hellcat is turn ‘em outdoors ‘cause they ain’t fit to stay in the house.” 

“You like the same damn movies I like,” Daryl said. “And for just a damn minute quit pretendin’ you like that shit ‘cause there ain’t fuck else on. We got somethin’ like a hundred channels. If you was just watchin’ it to rot your brain, you could find some other shit. But you don’t—‘cause you like that shit. You like the part where everything looks warm. Looks like it smells good an’ the lights are just right and shit. You like the comin’ home part…and you fuckin’ know it.” 

“But you don’t come home to a fuckin’ hellcat, Daryl. You come home to a fuckin’ lap cat. And you can mark my words—there ain’t no lap cats that want Dixons. Dixons are like old Toms. They’re strays. Don’t act right for the civilized lap cat. Lap cats don’t want Dixons. You know that. And you know you don’t want no hellcat long term, neither.” 

Daryl had tried relationships. He wanted his own slice of Happily Ever After, and he’d tried to get it. A week. Two weeks. The longest Daryl had ever kept one woman was three months. It never lasted. The hellcats didn’t exactly break Daryl’s heart, but they weren’t right for the image he had in his head. They weren’t right for him—and he didn’t really like them like he wanted to like them, either. None of them had ever really lit his proverbial fire. It was always the same—he thought he was smitten for her, or he wanted to be, and he went after it hard, determined to make it into something like those movies; something that looked like it smelled like cinnamon and felt like living in Christmas. He’d always come in, after it burned itself out, and sit down across from Merle, disappointed, because he’d tried to make a lap cat out of a hellcat.

Merle sighed.

“You can’t make no lap cat outta no hellcat, Daryl,” Merle said. “And there ain’t no lap cat wants a Dixon.” Merle stopped. He thought about how bad his baby brother wanted his Happily Ever After. He thought about how bad he wanted Daryl to have what the hell he wanted. “Maybe—maybe you gonna find one, someday. A lap cat that’ll curl up real nice with you.”

“But you couldn’t?” Daryl asked. Merle laughed to himself and tasted the beer.

“I got a helluva lot more Dixon in me, Darylina, than you ever even imagined havin’,” Merle mused. “I’m too damn rough around the edges. They don’t even want seconds with my ass—I come to close to breakin’ ‘em right outta the damn gate.” 

“Why not just—not break ‘em, Merle?” Daryl asked. “Gotta say—she’s skittish as all get out. She sure ain’t eatin’ outta my hand, and she ain’t no lap cat—not yet. But I think Carol’s got potential. But—hell, long as we talkin’ about cats as a damn metaphor, it ain’t no different than Little Gray we had.”

Little Gray had been a stray cat that had taken up around their house some years back. She’d come to them as just what her name implied—a little gray kitten. She’d hollered and screamed and driven them crazy until they’d fed her on just about anything they could put on a plate and chuck out the door. They’d figured she’d leave when she ate her fill, that first night after she just showed up on the doorstep. She hadn’t, though. She’d just hung around getting fatter and fluffier. Both of them had wanted something desperate to pet and hold the cat—like some kind of inexplicable need. She was having no part of being touched or held, though.

So, they’d started sitting outside with her. Just sitting. They’d started moving the plate closer each day—just a little closer. They’d started with offering a hand to sniff and, eventually, she’d thanked them for their hospitality by brushing her body against their hands—her choice. It was always by Little Gray’s choice. Finally, she’d eventually let herself be petted and rubbed. She’d never really gotten around to letting herself be held, though. And, one day, Little Gray had disappeared in much the same way she’d shown up—without any warning. 

“You gotta treat ‘em good, Merle, if you want ‘em to stick around,” Daryl said. “Gotta go easy. Gentle.” 

“I ain’t easy, and I ain’t gentle,” Merle said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

“You’re a chickenshit is what you are,” Daryl said. “You forget I know you. Better’n any damn body in this world. You could be easy some. If that’s what you wanted. But you’re too damn hung up on hurtin’ her so she don’t stay around—that way you don’t gotta get your feelings hurt if she leaves.” 

“When she leaves, brother,” Merle said. “If her ass even wanted to stay with a damn Dixon in the first place, for more’n a night. It’s when she leaves…not if. Besides—you talkin’ like someone that’s got somethin’ to show for all his infinite fuckin’ wisdom.” 

“No,” Daryl said. “I don’t. Not yet, maybe. But—at least I’m tryin’ to get what I want, Merle. I’m just sayin’ you ain’t gettin’ no younger. You ever want more’n a hellcat, you might oughta start tryin’ to find you somethin’ different.” 

“Told you—ain’t nobody wants a Dixon but a hellcat,” Merle said, shaking his head, his stomach ached from the conversation and he wished he could go back to before it had begun. Daryl was an idealist. He always had been. A regular glass is half full kind of asshole—especially as far as Dixons went. Maybe part of that was their mama’s fault. There was so much of her in Daryl. Maybe part of that was Merle’s fault—he’d always hated to see his baby brother squalling. He’d give him anything he could to make him feel better. He’d always told him things would get better. He’d always told him he could have anything he wanted—at least eventually. Maybe it had gone to Daryl’s head so that he believed the nonsense.

Of course, even standing there with that damn dumb look on his face—with Merle knowing he was courting a woman who might be a stray that could be turned lap cat, but probably wouldn’t want a rough-around-the-edges slice of white trash like everyone knew the Dixons were—Merle didn’t have the heart to hurt his brother and take away the hope of something that made him so pleased. 

“I hope you get your lap cat, Daryl,” Merle said. “But—there’s too damn much Dixon in me. Ain’t nothin’ wants my ass but a hellcat—and hellcats don’t want more’n a night ‘fore you turn ‘em out. That’s just the damn way it is.” 

“What if—she was just equal parts, Merle?” Daryl asked. “Equal parts—hellcat and lap cat?” 

Merle laughed to himself. He shook his head. He was tired of the conversation. He was tired of thinking about what could have been, what might be, what wasn’t, and what had never been. Too much thinking about that kind of thing only soured the stomach and made everything ache more than it normally did. 

“What’s in the bag, brother?” Merle asked, doing his best to make it clear that he was changing the subject.

Daryl was busy on his phone; his attention having turned to the device. He looked up and hummed at Merle, so Merle repeated his question.

“Oh—yeah…Nice Rack’s. I picked up food.” He turned back to whatever he was doing on his phone.

“You gonna bring it over here, or we gonna just let that shit sit an’ congeal real good?” Daryl was focused on his phone. “That your lil’ kitty we was talkin’ about that’s got your attention so good, boy?” 

Daryl looked at him, brow furrowed, and then his expression softened. He laughed to himself. 

“Somethin’ like that. Hey—listen—fuck—I gotta head out. I’ll be back later tonight.” 

Merle was surprised at Daryl’s abruptness. He immediately grabbed for his keys. He meant he was leaving, and he was leaving right away.

“Somethin’ wrong, brother?” 

“No,” Daryl said. “Just—somethin’ important. I gotta go.”

“You gonna tell me what?” 

“When I get home, Merle,” Daryl said. “Don’t’cha worry. Just—have a good night. I’ma be home late.” 

Merle stood up, following his brother to the door, entirely bewildered by Daryl’s’ behavior.

“You alright, brother?” 

“I’m fine,” Daryl assured him, finally sounding sincere and not so frantic. “Just gotta go, Merle.”

“You ain’t even eat,” Merle said.

“You eat it,” Daryl said. “All yours.” 

“You got a fuckin’ sack full of food here, brother,” Merle said, glancing toward the bag that looked like it had enough for three people packed inside.

“It’ll last you all night,” Daryl promised, taking the porch steps two at a time like his ass was on fire. Merle stayed at the door until Daryl’s brake lights told him he was at the end of the driveway. Then he closed the door, laughed to himself, and headed back into the kitchen.

“He’s fuckin’ weird sometimes,” Merle mused to himself. He loved his brother—he loved him more than he’d ever loved anything or anyone. But that didn’t mean that Merle didn’t know that his brother was a little bit weird—hell, maybe everyone was, though. 

Of course, it might be Daryl’s particular brand of weird that got him the lap cat he wanted so damn much—Daryl had been more heartbroken, honestly, over Little Gray than Merle had, after all, because Merle had expected she would up and leave one day, whereas Daryl had hoped she would stay forever—and Merle wanted the lap cat kind of movie-worthy for his brother before it was just too late to have it.

Merle quickly gave up the idea of going to Salty’s. He wouldn’t mind a piece of ass—who would? But it was too damn much work, honestly, and he was feeling a little deflated from the conversation with Daryl. He didn’t like getting sappy with his brother—or with anyone—but there was at least a little of his mama inside him, rattling around like pennies in a coffee can. He wouldn’t mind that Hallmark movie bullshit for himself, but there wasn’t someone like that for him. The hellcats lit out the moment the door was open, and they didn’t look back. Just like Little Gray, they came, allowed themselves to be touched for a while and only on their terms, and then they just disappeared—that was the part that Daryl forgot so often, and that was the part that Merle was willing to let him forget.

Tonight, Merle would settle for some beers and all the barbecue his stomach could hold. Maybe he’d find one of those stupid ass movies to watch. Just because it wasn’t real, after all, didn’t mean that he didn’t enjoy the escape.

Merle was arranging ribs on a plate—a whole rack that Daryl had picked out—when there was a hard knock at the door. Merle laughed to himself.

“Door ain’t locked, asshole,” he called out. “You’da been in a world of shit, though, if I’da been passed out an’ you forgot your keys—havin’ to take the back door off the track again.” 

Merle opened the door, but he didn’t expect to see what he saw.

She smiled at him.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she offered. “In case I’m ever locked out and need to get back in.” 

Merle’s heart immediately started pounding in his chest—hard. 

“Andrea…”

“You didn’t call, Merle, and that—hurts my feelings.” 

His stomach squeezed as hard as his chest. If his arm had gone numb, he would have figured it was some kind of fatal heart attack.

“Didn’t figure you’d answer,” Merle said. 

A smile turned up the corner of her mouth. She was wearing a black coat, and she toyed with the stiff belt that tied the jacket. Merle watched her fingers as they worked out the knot.

“A little bird told me you might think that,” Andrea said. “That you liked—direct. No room for misinterpretation.”

She dropped the belt and slipped the coat just off her shoulders, revealing that she was wearing lingerie underneath it—and nothing more. 

“You shouldn’t be runnin’ around outside like that,” Merle said quickly. He didn’t know why he said it, though. What she did was her business, not his. If she wanted to run around butt ass naked, there was little that he could say about it. 

She didn’t scold him, though.

“Then you better let me in,” Andrea said with a smile.

Merle grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into the house. He closed the door behind her and locked it without a thought.

“What the hell you doin’ here?” 

“It’s not obvious?” Andrea asked. She slipped the coat back up on her shoulders, but Merle could still see bare skin beneath it. He was fully aware of how little she was wearing—painfully aware, actually. Someone else, it seemed, hadn’t forgotten her, either. Merle wasn’t sure what to say, or what to do. He hadn’t been prepared for her presence in the least—and certainly not following the discussion he’d just had with his brother. 

“Just showed up on the doorstep,” he mused to himself.

Andrea smiled, swallowing it back so that it was little more than a smirk. She raised her eyebrows at him. 

“Maybe a little like a stray?” She offered. Merle’s stomach tightened at her choice of words, and his heart drummed hard. His dick though, was struggling to be heard over all the noise and confusion—he had promised it a trip to Salty’s and then reneged, but this was better because she—she’d been better than anyone else he’d ever found at Salty’s, or anywhere else for that matter. She pursed her lips at Merle. “You want the pussy to go away?” She asked.

Merle wished he had the ability to slap himself, because he felt like that was the only thing that could get him out of this stupor. He grabbed the top of her arms and a quick expression crossed her face that made him loosen his grip just a little. 

“Fuck, no,” he managed to get out. “But I gotta warn your ass—I don’t know how to do second times.” 

“Same as first times,” Andrea said. She winked at him. “Just maybe with a few new positions.” She rested her hands on his shoulders and worked the muscles there before she kissed his jaw and then bit him, just hard enough to get his attention without damaging the skin, right where she’d kissed him. “If you think this old Tom could handle that,” she said, keeping her voice low. It sent a jolt through his whole body that had him feeling less like an old Tom and more like some barely-haired kid ready to embarrass himself in front of the first woman he ever saw naked.

He laughed to himself. 

“I’ll give you whatever you want, Sugar,” he offered. “Take care of your ass real good. Just like you like it. But you oughta know—I’ma want a lil’ of what suits me, too. I want some shit on my terms.”

“I’m counting on it,” Andrea said. “All of it. Don’t worry, Merle. I like it rough.” 

“Shit,” Merle growled. He reached and caught her hair, twisting it around his fingers. As he pulled it, he directed her back toward the bedroom. “You know where the hell we goin’,” he offered. She came willingly, backing up instead of turning to walk in front of him. She pulled him, once, off course. He let her, and she pushed him into the wall. She rubbed her body against him—her perfect fucking body. Merle leg go of her hair. His hands explored the soft skin of her waist. Sliding around, inside the silky underwear, he squeezed her ass cheeks. “Perfect fuckin’ ass,” he growled. 

“You think so?” She mused. He growled his confirmation. She’d already popped the button his pants. She’d worked the zipper down. Merle leaned and bit the crook of her neck when she wrapped her hand around his dick. “Does this mean you’re happy to see me? Even though you threw my ass out of the house and didn’t call me back?” 

“Thought you wouldn’t come no damn way,” Merle said.

“I’m here now,” Andrea said, stroking him. “What are you going to do with me?” 

“I’ma fuck the hell outta you,” Merle said.

“Be careful, Merle,” Andrea warned. He could hear the humor in her voice. “Fuck the hell out of a hellcat and she just might never leave.”


	21. Chapter 21

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl knew that he was taking a chance, but the old adage of “nothing ventured, nothing gained,” continued to circle around in his mind. He knew where she lived now. When he’d left her house, the one time he’d been there, he’d been too drunk to remember where she lived exactly. With the dinner date set for Friday, though, he’d already asked for her address, and he’d already entered it into the notes on his phone so that he would be able to find it.

It was Wednesday night, and there was a good chance that she’d tell him to go to hell, but Daryl parked in front of the curb in front of her house.

He vaguely remembered it. Somewhere he had some blinking, staticky remembrance of stumbling down the little brick walkway to her door. He had some blurry recollection of kissing her against the heavy wooden door. He could remember her searching for her keys—almost seeming like another person entirely through the foggy glaze that coated his memories.

He was sober, tonight, and that was probably why his stomach was tight, his lungs were pulling in less air than they normally did, and his knees felt wobbly when he asked them to carry him up the brick walkway.

Somewhere in the neighborhood a dog barked. Another dog responded. Someone yelled out the door to silence one of them. The sound of Daryl’s truck door closing seemed to be the loudest noise he’d ever heard. He expected it to draw the attention of everyone in the whole neighborhood—maybe, even, someone would call the police for such a rude noise disturbance.

He realized, though, halfway down the brick walkway that had seemed to grow to be several miles long, that his anxiety had only heightened his senses and put every nerve on end. Stepping up the steps to the front door—behind which the house seemed to stand still and silent, with the glow of light behind white curtains giving the only indication that anyone was home and awake—Daryl paused a moment to breathe.

She could tell him to go to hell, especially if she didn’t like surprises, but God he hoped she wouldn’t.

Maybe Merle was right. Dixons didn’t appeal to the lap cat variety—and Daryl felt sure that Carol, behind the wall she’d built for herself, was the lap cat variety. Merle, though sopped in negativity and guilt for sins he’d never actually committed, was usually right. 

And maybe Daryl, like Merle, was simply made to be a stray—a scraggly, war-wounded, flea-bitten old Tom. But hell, if he didn’t want to be a lap cat. 

He gathered up his courage. He steeled himself—prepared to hear one thing, but hoping for another. He raised his hand, ignoring that he knew it shook slightly, and hoping she wouldn’t notice—hoping the shake wouldn’t travel to his voice—and he pushed the button. Inside he heard the shrill noise of the doorbell and he wished he hadn’t pressed it. He wished he’d knocked. The harsh and unnatural sound of the doorbell seemed unwelcome. It seemed like a cruel way to break the sanctuary of silence that she’d created inside.

He didn’t expect a “who’s there?” as he heard the sound of her approach to the door from the inside. Instead, he stood back and offered a somewhat nervous smile to the peephole where he was sure she was examining him—and he was happy to know that she was doing such a thing. It was dangerous, after all, to simply open the door. 

Daryl heard the sound of a deadbolt disengaging, and Carol opened the door. Instead of feeling insulted, he was happy to see the chain between them. 

He couldn’t help but smile at her furrowed brow.

“Daryl? What are you doing here?” 

“It’s good to see you, too,” Daryl teased. He could see by her expression that she wasn’t in a teasing mood, though. Perhaps showing up, unannounced, was a little too much for her. Daryl cleared his throat and fought against the growing uneasiness in his gut. “I was out—givin’ Merle some space. Figured I might head down to the Dairy-O. Get an ice cream. Thought—you might want to…get some ice cream.” 

“It’s the middle of the night,” Carol offered.

“It ain’t even eight,” Daryl said with a laugh.

“It’s late for ice cream,” Carol said.

“That means you don’t want none?” Daryl asked.

“I haven’t eaten ice cream this late since…” Carol said, letting the thought trail. She sighed. 

“All the more reason to go hog wild,” Daryl said, his confidence growing as he heard the hitch in her voice—an audible catch in her argument. “Throw caution to the wind. It’s just ice cream.”

Carol held a finger up, asking him to wait, and she closed the door. He heard the chain slide off. She opened the door again, wide this time. 

Daryl’s heart drummed in his chest to see her. She was beautiful. She was beyond beautiful. And she was even more beautiful than she normally seemed with the soft light of a few lamps in the otherwise darkened house creating a warm backdrop behind her. 

Her silver hair stuck out in odd directions—clearly left to do what it wished after being washed. She was wearing a white nightgown that looked soft, and Daryl flicked his eyes away when he realized they were looking at how it hugged on her clearly bra-less breasts. The white fabric fell just halfway down her milky thighs, and Daryl was almost ashamed to meet her eyes again when his had settled on her bare feet and he realized that he hadn’t been at all discreet—which he’d meant to be—with his exploration of her body.

Something of a light smirk tugged at one corner of her mouth when he dared to look at her, and his face burned fire-hot in response. He smirked back at her, hoping to draw attention away from his accidental blunder.

“Just ice cream,” Daryl offered.

“I’m a woman,” Carol said. The comment struck Daryl, hard, and he couldn’t help but laugh. He shook his head, even before speaking, because he already knew that he shouldn’t say what he dared to say.

“Sorry for sayin’ it, but…shit, don’t I know that?” 

“At my age? Daryl—ice cream at this hour sticks. It goes straight to fat.” 

“I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about,” Daryl offered. “If—I’m allowed to say that.” Carol’s expression changed—either she wasn’t sure if he was allowed to say that or not, or she hadn’t considered it before. Daryl’s stomach churned. It was uncomfortable not having an answer, and he wanted one—one way or another. “It’s just an ice cream, but if you don’t want to, that’s cool, too. I can eat ice cream by myself. I’ve done it before.” 

“Give me time to change?” Carol asked after a second.

“All the time you want,” Daryl offered.

“Come in,” Carol urged, ushering him inside. “Do you mind—blowing out the candles? While I change?” 

Daryl looked around the house. He didn’t really recall it, though there were pieces of it that felt familiar—lingering bits that his mind had held onto despite his intoxication. Carol’s house was warm—temperature-wise, but also simply in the way that it seemed to wrap around him and welcome him inside. It wasn’t one of those perfect houses where Daryl might have been afraid to touch anything because he’d fear messing something up. Instead, everything seemed perfectly placed for comfort. He could imagine himself, without hesitation, sinking down into the couch, which looked soft and comfortable, for a nap. 

Daryl blew out the candles on the coffee table and noticed the book that was flipped over, open. He smiled to himself. It was clearly one of those cheesy porn-type novels. 

“I guess I’m ready,” Carol called coming back from her bedroom.

“I didn’t interrupt your reading, did I?” Daryl asked. He turned to take her in. She was casual—and he appreciated how casual she actually looked. She looked like she was at ease, and that made his stomach respond in a much more positive way than it had when he’d been waiting for some type of response from her. She had slipped into clearly well-worn jeans and a simple button-down shirt that was slightly over-sized for her small frame. She’d slipped her bare feet into sneakers. She hadn’t bothered to do anything to her hair and, from what Daryl could tell, she wasn’t wearing any make up. 

He couldn’t imagine a more beautiful ice cream date.

“I read every night,” Carol offered.

“Me too,” Daryl said. “Now. If you got them books for me—I could take them, too.” 

Carol smiled to herself. 

“As a matter of fact,” she said. She finished that statement by stepping toward her dining table. There was a small stack of books waiting there, and she offered them over to Daryl when she walked back toward him. He flipped through the stack quickly. 

“Anywhere I oughta start?” He asked.

“I like them all,” Carol said. 

“Then I’ll just pick one,” he said. “You ready?” 

She nodded, and she let Daryl lead the way out of the house. He waited for her to lock the door, and he offered her an arm to walk down the little brick pathway that wasn’t nearly as long as it had been on the trip to the door. She smiled to herself when he opened the truck door for her, and he thought he could practically smell her anxiety. He took note of the fact that she was nervous. It was good to know, he decided—nervous animals, and Daryl was a firm believer in remembering that people were simply animals with opposable thumbs and some possibly advanced reasoning skills, sometimes acted in ways they wouldn’t otherwise act. They had to be forgiven, sometimes, for things beyond their control.

Daryl gave Carol space with the silence in the cab of the truck while they drove for a bit. The Dairy-O was on the opposite side of Living Springs from Carol’s house. While Daryl drove, he rolled down the window and took out his cigarettes.

“You care?” He asked.

“No,” Carol said, pulling her eyes from staring straight ahead only long enough to see to what he was gesturing. 

“You want?” He asked, shaking the pack at her. 

She sighed and reached for one. 

“Yeah,” she said. “Actually—I do.” 

“You smoke much? Don’t matter, just askin’, really,” Daryl said as she took one. 

“I don’t with any—regularity, I guess. I guess it’s better to say that I don’t feel really like I have to smoke. But I have one now and again.” 

“I feel like I have to,” Daryl said with a laugh. He flicked the lighter and offered it in her direction. She accepted the light before she rolled down her own window. He didn’t light his immediately. And when he flicked his eyes in her direction, he saw that she was staring hard out the windshield once more. Her anxiety was palpable, and she was smoking to relieve it. 

Daryl waited a second, and decided to try to throw her a bone to help distract her from whatever worst-case scenario she might be stewing over in her mind.

“I’m nosy,” he said. “But—what are you thinking? What do you want?”

Carol hummed to herself. There was a sigh, as well. Daryl bit the inside of his cheek. The decision-making process could be difficult, he knew. He didn’t want to laugh at her—no matter what—because he didn’t want to accidentally make her uncomfortable about anything.

“That’s a hard question,” Carol said after a long hesitation. Daryl hummed at her, leaving her to finish as she felt was best. She sighed again. “If I’m being honest? I want a lot—and, maybe, the problem is that I’ve always wanted too much. That’s really probably especially true, now.” Daryl’s stomach tightened. He was pretty sure his question had been misinterpreted. But Carol was working through something, and he wasn’t going to interrupt that. He quickly lit the cigarette he’d been holding between his lips, decided to take a slightly longer way to the Dairy-O than was necessary, and slid the pack of cigarettes and lighter closer to Carol—just in case. “It’s not one of those things that you want to say, you know? Because it feels reasonable but—when you say it? It’s a lot. And it’s a lot of pressure, and I don’t mean for it to be pressure.” Daryl hummed at her. Just barely. Just enough to reassure her that he was there and listening.

“Just a thought,” he added quietly, practically whispering it. He wanted to urge her on, but he didn’t want to speak enough to interrupt the stream of thoughts. 

“I never wanted more than I thought everyone else wanted,” Carol said. “A job—a good job. That I enjoyed. I don’t want to be rich, but I don’t want to worry all the time, you know?” Daryl barely hummed. “Enough to—be secure. Especially—as I’m getting older. I wanted a husband. I wanted to get married—I thought…I’d be a certain kind of wife.” She laughed insincerely to herself. “I was the wrong kind of wife. Bad at it. Or, maybe, I picked the wrong kind of husband for what I wanted. I wanted children. A family. A whole life.” She stopped. Hesitated. A few beats of silence fell between them. “Shit—I’m sorry. It’s too much to even say that. I guess…now? I just want peace. I want—to salvage whatever there is to salvage, with whatever time there is left. As depressing as that sounds. But, I guess, more than anything? I want peace.” 

Daryl’s heart thundered hard in his chest. He thought his palms might be sweating slightly. The one gripping the steering wheel seemed to slip a little. The hand holding the cigarette trembled, and he could only pretend that it was from low blood sugar or having waited too long between cigarettes.

“Say something?” Carol said. “It’s too much, and I shouldn’t have…said it.” 

“I was—askin’ about ice cream, really,” Daryl said. “Meant—did you want a Buddy bar, or soft-serve, or even a banana split?”

“Oh God! I’m so embarrassed!” Carol declared. Daryl could hear in her voice there was no put-on dramatics. She’d been stewing on everything she’d said. She’d blurted it out like a confession. It had taken a great deal of bravery, on her part, to share something that intimate with him—especially when she required him dragging everything out of her. She was truly embarrassed and it made her voice shake. That made Daryl’s heart squeeze.

He finished his cigarette, flicked it out the window, and switched hands on the wheel so that he could reach a hand out and gingerly touch her shoulder.

“Nothin’ to be embarrassed about,” he said. “I’m happy to hear—whatever you got to say. Really. Any time.” 

“You didn’t want to know all that,” Carol said. “It’s overwhelming.”

“I wanna know everything,” Daryl said. “And I’m not overwhelmed. But—since I can tell you’re feelin’ a little overwhelmed…why don’t you just tell me…you know…if you want a banana split or somethin’?” 

Carol laughed quietly to herself. Daryl felt her shoulder shake under his hand. It was welcomed since he’d feared she might actually shed a couple of tears. He squeezed her shoulder again before dropping his hand. He didn’t want to take too many liberties and make her uncomfortable.

“I haven’t had a banana split since I was in high school,” Carol mused.

“All the more reason to have one tonight,” Daryl said. 

“Do you know how many calories are in a banana split?” Carol asked.

“No,” Daryl said. “And I don’t care, neither. Calories don’t count when you’re in high school no way.” 

“And I’m hardly in high school anymore,” Carol said. “Neither are you, for that matter.” 

Daryl swallowed against the churning in his own gut. Her anxiety filled up the truck. There wasn’t much room for his and he didn’t want the two competing for space. He stilled his mind a moment. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. 

“I’ve missed out on—on a lot of shit in my life. Sounds like—like maybe you have too. If either of us…maybe…if you want to and if this lasts, you know, long enough for all that shit to happen…if either of us wants to recover any of that? Well, it seems like we gotta start somewhere. Might as well start—with a high school banana split at the Dairy-O.”

“A lifetime is a lot to recover,” Carol mused.

“Let’s just start with the banana split,” Daryl offered. “What’cha say, Carol? I didn’t hardly date in high school. Sure as shit didn’t date—shit—didn’t date someone like you. Will you have a banana split with me at the Dairy-O? Calorie-free, and all, of course.” 

The sound that escaped Carol’s lips wasn’t exactly a sigh, but it was somewhere in the same family. A hand drifted over the middle of the seat—over the stack of books that Daryl had rested there to peruse at his leisure—and long, cool fingers found his hand and wrapped around it. Daryl smiled to himself and squeezed Carol’s fingers, somewhat surprised at how much he appreciated the simple gesture. He rubbed his thumb over her fingers when she didn’t tug her hand back immediately, and he chose the route that, at this point, would take them almost directly to the Dairy-O, no longer feeling that he needed to pick a meandering route to buy time.

“I’d like to have a banana split with you, Daryl,” Carol offered. “Calorie-free, of course.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. They’d work on the rest—but an impromptu banana split would do for now.


	22. Chapter 22

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Carol almost laughed at herself. She felt like her thoughts were ridiculous and, really, she was glad that she was the only one privy to them as long as she kept them to herself.

She was on a pretend high school date with Daryl and she was practically feeling like she really was in high school again—like she’d been transported to another time and place. She laughed to herself, and thankfully Daryl simply took it as a positive response to what he was saying, when she thought that even the air seemed to smell different and the night sky seemed just a little brighter and clearer than it normally did.

The Dairy-O, itself, was little more than a kitchen. It was an ice cream dive that sold fast food and ice cream served nearly any way you could imagine that you might like to eat it. Living Springs liked to keep their establishments fixed up enough that the condition of any one establishment wouldn’t be bad enough to bring down the property value on others, so the Dairy-O was kept in a state of cleanliness and repair, but it hadn’t been upgraded or expanded since the fifties when it had been built. 

Inside the building, diners could cram into any one of the six tightly arranged tables. Outside the building, picnic tables were on offer with a little more space between each of them.

On a Wednesday night, two hours before closing time, the Dairy-O was remarkably empty. Still, Carol had no trouble convincing Daryl that an outside table was nicer than an inside one—especially since the night air simply seemed cleaner and fresher than it normally was.

It was only an impromptu ice cream. 

It was only the first banana split that Carol had eaten since before she’d married Ed. 

It was only a picnic table under the street lights surrounding the Dairy-O. 

It shouldn’t have seemed so oddly magical, and Carol was a little embarrassed with herself that her mind would run away with her so completely over something so ridiculous.

Luckily, Daryl couldn’t read her mind and he had no idea what she was thinking. He didn’t know that her heart had nearly pounded out of her chest, in the most ridiculous way possible, when he’d jokingly instructed her on how to create the perfect bite of banana split—a bite that included every possible flavor of the concoction—and then had held it out to her, hovering his red plastic spoon just at her lips. He didn’t know that her breath had caught, like she was back in high school and on some kind of first date that she would have taken very seriously back then, when he’d urged her to take the ice cream and smiled with genuine satisfaction when she’d humored him.

Daryl didn’t know that Carol couldn’t recall anything that had tasted as good as that specific bite of ice cream.

She was letting herself get swept up in a moment, and she knew that. She knew, too, that letting herself get swept up was dangerous. 

“I mean—I get what Miles is doin’,” Daryl said. “And it’s romantic. I understand that. The whole—you might as well give us your blessin’ because we’re gonna be together any damn way, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. It’s romantic, but I’m just sayin’ that, realistically? That’s prob’ly not the foot he wants to get off on with Janie’s daddy if he’s serious about the long term.”

Carol rested her head on her hand and her elbow on the table. 

“You’ve really thought about this,” she mused, noticing the remnants of ice cream on Daryl’s lips from his last bite. She scolded herself—whatever it was inside her that had decided to come along on this date—when she felt the compulsion to reach out and wipe his lips…or, maybe, even to kiss them clean. She sat back, her face warm at her own thoughts, so that he wouldn’t notice the blush that she was certain trailed across her cheeks. She ignored the puddle of warmth she felt growing elsewhere over something as simple as a kiss.

“I told you,” Daryl said. “I like the book. I like these kinds of stories.”

“Men don’t like romances,” Carol said with a laugh.

“Maybe the men you been hangin’ around with don’t like romances,” Daryl said. “And—maybe it ain’t somethin’ they talk about. But—shit—that’s only because someone decided that…that men don’t like romances. What the hell isn’t there to like?” 

Carol considered his question. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I never thought about it. Ed didn’t like romances.” 

“If you’ll forgive me for bein’ so fuckin’ forward,” Daryl said, “I’m not sure that I consider Ed a good yardstick by which the hell to measure all the men in the whole world.” 

Carol nodded her head and shrugged.

“You go with what you know,” she offered.

Daryl stared at her a moment—hard enough she glanced away from him. Then he turned his attention back to the ice cream. Carol smiled to herself when his spoon appeared in front of her face again, an inch from her lips.

“You finish it,” Carol said.

“Finish it? The whole damn thing? Hell—you ain’t barely eat more’n the bite I give you before. Take it.” 

“I really shouldn’t…” Carol said. Daryl made a face at her, and she accepted the bite.

“Calories?” He asked.

“Are you mocking me?” Carol asked, in response to his tone of voice.

“No,” he said. “At least—hell, I don’t mean to. It ain’t my business—and you can tell me to go to hell, if that’s what you want—but is Ed the reason you’re obsessed with calories?”

Carol’s stomach turned.

“I think—my father always thought that there was a way that women ought to look,” Carol said. “He would say that a woman who took care of herself looked a certain way. And a woman ought to take care of herself for her husband. No man wants a woman who lets herself go.” 

“And I’m guessin’ Ed agreed with that sentiment,” Daryl said.

“Ed was very particular about how much I weighed,” Carol said. “Through the years it was up and down. I gained and I lost…and he let me know about it. Every pound. Every inch.” 

“That’s stupid,” Daryl offered, half muttering the words.

“You say that,” Carol said, “but that’s just now. Ten pounds and you might feel different.”

“If I gained ten pounds, am I still the same person?” Daryl asked.

“Of course,” Carol said.

“Then—if you liked sittin’ here talkin’ to me an’ eatin’ ice cream with me…or whatever…don’t you reckon that you’d still like to do that if there were ten pounds more to me?” Daryl asked.

“It’s not that simple,” Carol said. 

“I don’t think it’s that complicated,” Daryl offered. 

“What about—what you’re attracted to?” Carol asked. “That has to be taken into consideration.”

“To some degree,” Daryl said, nodding his head. “I’ll give you that. You like what you like an’ you don’t like what you don’t like. Still—I would hope you’re attracted to more’n someone’s shape. And if it was that big a deal, hell, I’d just say maybe we don’t go get banana splits together. Maybe we take a walk together, instead. It’s a nice damn night, after all, either way. But I wouldn’t be thinkin’ that I could go and have banana splits and expect you not to eat any of it.” 

Carol smiled to herself.

“I worry about…things,” Carol offered.

“I see that,” Daryl said. “Things that Ed told you to worry about. Maybe your old man, too, but Ed…he’s behind a lot of it.” 

“Ed’s not the only man who has the same opinions…” Carol said.

“Maybe not, but he ain’t the authority for all men, neither, if you catch my drift,” Daryl said. 

“You don’t mind ten pounds,” Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he said. “Speakin’ of old men—and thinkin’ about Miles’ dumb ass thinkin’ that Janie ain’t never gonna be wantin’ to be back with her family again…your old man still around?” 

Carol shook her head. 

“Neither one of my parents,” Carol said.

“Got somethin’ in common, then,” Daryl offered. He picked at the ice cream with his spoon, and then he finally cleared his throat and looked back at Carol. “I didn’t—ruin the mood, did I?” 

Carol laughed to herself. She shook her head.

“No, Daryl,” she assured him. “You didn’t ruin the mood at all.”

He smiled, clearly relieved. 

“Good,” he said, offering her another carefully constructed bite of the melting ice cream masterpiece.

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In keeping with the idea of a high school date, Daryl opened the truck door for Carol and offered her his hand. She felt her cheeks run warm, but she accepted the gesture as she slid out of the seat. Daryl closed the truck door and walked her toward her door, his fingers holding tight to hers. 

Carol’s heart was beating hard enough that it was almost painful. The part of her that was silly, and at risk of letting her be entirely too reckless, wished that the trip to the house was longer. Something tugged inside of her and made her want the night to keep going on, somehow, exactly as it was going.

She hated the thought of losing the magic of the night—the magic of the strange, warm feeling that had settled in her belly.

“Home again, home again, jiggety-jig,” Daryl teased as they reached the door. Standing under Carol’s porch light, he smiled sincerely at her. “Thank you for havin’ ice cream with me.” 

“I enjoyed it,” Carol assured him quickly, finding her keys. “Thank you for taking me.” 

“I’m sorry if I ruined your other plans,” Daryl said. 

Carol shook her head.

“It was a nice surprise,” she assured him. 

“I’m sorry if—eatin’ the ice cream this late stressed you out,” Daryl offered. “I get it. I saw it. It’s a real worry for you. Anxiety. I don’t mean to make light of that. We all got our things. I just hope—that it weren’t too bad. Not bad enough to wreck the whole night.” 

Carol’s cheeks burned warm again and she shook her head.

“I think I’ll survive,” she offered. “And—thank you for understanding. But you don’t have to apologize to me for everything, Daryl.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“And you don’t gotta thank me for everything short of not droppin’ dead from just up and stoppin’ breathing,” Daryl offered. “But—I guess we do what comes natural to us.” 

Carol thought she understood what he meant. There was still a great deal that she didn’t know about Daryl. She felt like she hardly knew anything at all about him, really. That thought made her chest tighten and her stomach follow suit. 

There was still so much she didn’t know about him.

She reminded herself that he wasn’t trying to keep anything secret—or, at least, she didn’t think that he was—and anything she didn’t know was only because she hadn’t asked. Friday night, in fact, was meant as a time for Daryl to let her get to know him a bit better.

The part of her that felt every bit as intoxicated with the night as she’d felt with the glass of wine that she’d drank hours before—before Daryl had even picked her up—wanted to get to know him more in the moment. That part of her tended to forget that there was any danger in the world.

Daryl squeezed the top part of her arm affectionately. He rubbed his thumb over her arm, keeping his distance somewhat. 

“I picked up the books tonight,” he said. “But—I’d still like to stop in for coffee in the morning.”

“We’re always open,” Carol said. She tensed. He was trying to figure out how to say goodbye. Maybe he wanted to kiss her, and he wasn’t sure how to go about it. She focused on steadying her breathing. “Does it make me sound—terrible—if I tell you that…some part of me wants to invite you inside? For a drink or…maybe to talk some more?” 

Daryl smiled at her. He shook his head.

“Don’t make you sound nothin’ bad at all,” Daryl said. “Even if you were to invite me in for—whatever else…not that I’m sayin’ you did—I wouldn’t think nothin’ bad about you. Either way, though, I would—I guess I’d say that I’d politely decline the offer.” 

Carol’s stomach twisted and her heart seized. 

“Oh,” she said.

Daryl renewed his smile.

“That don’t mean I won’t come for coffee in the morning,” he said. “Or that I’m not cookin’ them steaks on Friday.” 

“Then I don’t understand,” Carol admitted. Daryl nodded his head somewhat.

“You want the truth?” 

“Always,” Carol said.

“You tensed,” Daryl said. “You’re—anxious. And that’s OK. Good, maybe. The point is—if I was to come in now? For conversation, or a drink, or…whatever? You’d overthink it. Worry about it. Prob’ly regret it in the morning over coffee.” Daryl cleared his throat. 

“I’m sorry…” Carol offered, feeling the words in more ways than one.

“No,” Daryl said. “I mean it. Don’t be. It’s OK. It’s—good. I just…” He broke off and shook his head. “I’m not comin’ in. That’s all. Not tonight. Another night. One when—I’m sure you ain’t gonna regret it over coffee.” 

Carol felt her throat tighten oddly, and she swallowed against the feeling of suffocation.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. 

“Please don’t say you’re sorry anymore,” Daryl said. “Because—I’m not. I had a good night. Best damn ice cream date I’ve ever been on. Did you hate it?” 

Carol felt some of the tightness release.

“No,” she said. “I didn’t hate it at all. I had—a wonderful time.” 

“Then let’s leave it at that,” Daryl said. “And—I’ll swing by…for coffee. In the morning.”

Daryl excused himself, turning to walk back toward his truck. Carol called out to him quickly and drew his attention back. 

“Daryl—I think…if we were on a high school ice cream date that went so well, don’t you think a goodnight kiss might be in order?” 

Daryl smiled to himself and quickly retraced his steps. He answered her only by kissing her—hard. The kiss was, admittedly, much more than any high school kiss on a first date probably would have been, but Carol wasn’t complaining about the lack of verisimilitude behind the pretend high school kiss. She returned the kiss and, when it broke, she bid Daryl goodnight again. This time, after she’d unlocked the door and stepped into the house, she watched him head for his truck—and she was pretty sure there was just a touch more bounce to his step than there had been when he’d started in that direction earlier.

She felt that same bounce, herself, as she slipped into the house and closed the door behind her, telling herself that the slightly dizzy sensation she felt was simply from being unaccustomed to having so much sugar—of the literal or the figurative variety.


	23. Chapter 23

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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Daryl woke up long before the sun, but that wasn’t anything too unusual for him. It was probably too early for Merle to throw in the towel and call it time to be up for work, but he would do the thing where he was awake for a spell and back to bed throughout the night. 

It was maybe Merle’s knocking around that woke Daryl, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t really that tired and was content to get up anyway.

He was a little surprised to walk into the kitchen and see the scantily clad blonde rifling through their cabinets, but it didn’t take long for him to come out of the last few seconds of sleep stupor and to remember that she’d come to show her interest to Merle. 

Obviously, things went well, because Merle hadn’t kicked her out of the house yet. If Daryl recalled correctly, that was twice that Merle hadn’t practically thrown the blonde out the door and, as far as Merle was concerned, that was a Guinness Book worthy world record.

From behind, Daryl certainly couldn’t say the woman looked bad, though he couldn’t speak for her resemblance to Farrah Fawcett. Rather than ogle her for too long, though, he cleared his throat and announced his presence.

“Can I help you find somethin’?” He asked. “Or you just—robbin’ us?” The blonde jumped and sucked in a breath with surprise. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Daryl,” Daryl offered as she turned around. They had met only through the exchange of a whirlwind of text messages that had been intended to help her get to know Merle a little better and to arrange what had taken place the night before.

Daryl never expected the feeling like being doused with cold water that came over him.

“You’re—Carol’s friend…” He stammered, the moment he took in the blonde’s face instead of her ass. Her wide green eyes said that she was just as surprised to see him as he was to see her.

“You’re—oh my God…you’re Daryl. The Daryl.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“I’ve never been the Daryl before,” he said, putting emphasis on the words in the same way that the woman had. “You’re…”

“Andrea.” 

“Andrea,” he repeated. “I remember. You’re always at the café.”

“Not always,” Andrea said with a laugh. “I’m there nearly every morning, though.” 

“Except this morning?” 

“It’s like—four,” Andrea said. “I’ll go later.” 

“Me too,” Daryl said with a smile. He knew it was early, but he hadn’t realized how early it really was. A glance at the microwave clock told him it was just about the time that Andrea supposed it was.

For a moment, they stood, facing each other, in awkward silence. Daryl wanted to say more to her, but he wasn’t sure where to start. Her expression said that she wanted to say something, too, but hadn’t quite figured out her own starting spot. Finally, Daryl was able to pull himself out of the awkwardness a little.

“Merle don’t usually get up this early before work,” Daryl said. “But—he has a tendency to get up through the night here and there.”

Andrea smiled.

“It’s hit or miss for me, too,” she said. “Sometimes I sleep. Sometimes I don’t.”

“If you’re dedicated to being awake, I can make coffee,” Daryl said. “We got—eggs and toast, if you’re hungry.” 

“I’ll eat later at the café,” Andrea said. “But—I’d really love some coffee.” 

Daryl nodded his understanding and cleared his throat again. He’d done his best to keep his eyes locked on Andrea’s, but the fact of the matter was that she was only dressed in so far as her bits and baubles were covered, but they were barely covered.

“You—wanna borrow a shirt or…?” 

Andrea looked down, apparently having forgotten her state of near-nudity. Her cheeks blushed red and she somewhat covered herself with her arms. Daryl suddenly wished he hadn’t said anything. It was clear that he’d just introduced a state of self-consciousness where it hadn’t existed before. 

“I had a coat somewhere, but I couldn’t find it without waking Merle,” Andrea said as an explanation. Daryl held his hand up to her to still her so that she wouldn’t feel the need to try to explain everything. 

“Coffee’s in that cabinet with the filters,” he said, pointing. “Coffee maker’s right there. If you can figure it out?” She nodded. “I’ma grab you a shirt.” 

“Thanks,” Andrea said as Daryl ducked back down the hallway toward his bedroom. He grabbed one of his t-shirts and brought it to her. She pulled it over her head with another declaration of thanks, and he gestured toward the kitchen table to invite her to sit. She sat across from him and accepted a cigarette from the pack that he put between them. “I don’t think I ever knew your name,” Andrea said. “I never—put it together that you were dating Carol.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“It’s weird,” he agreed. “Merle didn’t tell me your name. Just—that you were better lookin’ than Farrah Fawcett. Which—comin’ from Merle? That’s high praise, for the record. Real high praise.” 

Andrea smiled to herself, and silence fell between them for a moment. Daryl got up as he heard the coffee pot loudly announce the end of its cycle. 

“How you take your coffee?” 

“Cream and sugar, if you’ve got it,” Andrea said. 

“We got everything,” Daryl offered. Rather than try to fix the woman’s coffee, he brought her the cream from the fridge and the sugar cannister with a spoon. He poured two mugs of coffee and sat down again, across from her. She thanked him, and he lit a cigarette for himself. “You’re Carol’s best friend,” he said. Andrea looked at him, clearly wondering if it was a question or a statement. Daryl wasn’t certain, himself. She nodded.

“I guess you could say that,” she said. 

Daryl nodded. His stomach churned, slightly, but he pushed back his anxiety. Normally this would be uncomfortable—sitting at the table talking to some strange woman. It was uncomfortable now. Still, Daryl wanted to talk to this particular woman almost desperately.

“You like Merle?” 

“I don’t think I’d still be here if I didn’t,” Andrea offered.

“Fair enough,” Daryl agreed. “He’s the one put them—bruises on you?” Andrea looked at him owl eyed and then cowered somewhat as she stirred her already well-stirred coffee. “I couldn’t help but notice. I ain’t judgin’. And I ain’t pryin’. Only—askin’ if he did it.” 

“He did it,” Andrea said. “But—it’s not what you’re thinking. I bruise easily. Too easily. And—things got out of hand. In a good way.” 

Daryl swallowed down some of the hot coffee.

“Then I don’t wanna know shit else,” Daryl said. “Good enough for me.” 

Andrea laughed quietly to herself, but she stopped somewhat cowering behind her coffee and clearly relaxed a little more from the ball into which she’d drawn herself in the chair.

“Can I ask you a question and—expect an honest answer?” Andrea asked. She brought her eyes to meet Daryl’s then. “Quid pro quo?” 

“If I can answer it,” Daryl agreed.

“Do you like Carol?” Andrea asked. “Because—she’s not going to take it well if you’re just playing with her. And—if you’re just playing with her? I’d have to ask you to leave her alone. Move on to someone else.”

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“See—that’s exactly how I meant for you to be when I told you Merle needs some direct ass shit. No going sideways toward a thing. State what you mean right out. You’re good at that.” 

“And you didn’t answer my question,” Andrea offered, tipping her head to the side and raising her eyebrows.

Daryl cleared his throat. He examined the coffee mug in front of him. Merle somewhat collected them, though he wasn’t really too much of a curator. This one had probably come from a yard sale somewhere. The chip in it may or may not have been there when Merle had picked it up for a quarter or fifty cents. On the front of it was a picture that looked like a stamp with a pink flamingo on it. More than likely, Merle had bought it to commemorate his ever-growing population of the ridiculous lawn ornaments.

“I like Carol very much,” Daryl said. “And the only game I’m plannin’ on playin’ with her is—whatever one she deals the cards for.” 

“She deserves that,” Andrea said.

“She does,” Daryl agreed. 

“Her ex-husband was awful,” Andrea said.

“So I gathered,” Daryl said. “As far as that goes, I’m not sure her father was a peach. She’s got this whole—eating thing. Like—if she eats, she’s gonna gain five pounds or some shit, and I’m going to totally change my mind on everything.” Andrea laughed to herself. “What?” 

“Maybe—we all have that,” Andrea said. 

“I don’t understand it,” Daryl said. Andrea shrugged her shoulders.

“Maybe it’s more of a woman thing,” Andrea said. “Men have their things with their bodies, but…maybe it’s a little different. Everything you see tells you to look a certain way.” 

“But that shit’s fake,” Daryl said. 

“As fake as anything else,” Andrea said. “The older you get, the easier it is to be OK with your body. You learn to love it—especially when you’re alone together. But the minute that there’s someone else, you realize they’re judging your body and they don’t know it like you do. They don’t—love it like you’ve had to learn to love it over the years. My—I guess he might be my ex now—he was terrible about it. Always—making me feel…” 

Her voice trailed off to nothing. Daryl got up and refilled both coffee mugs without request. When he sat, he helped himself to another cigarette and pushed the pack in Andrea’s direction to make it clear that she was welcome to have as many as she wanted.

She’d broken off without saying how she’d been made to feel, but Daryl imagined that he could guess. 

“You ought not to let him make you feel that way,” Daryl said. “I’m just sayin’—there’s nothin’ wrong with your body.” 

“I’m not fishing for compliments,” Andrea offered.

“And I’m not comin’ on,” Daryl responded. “I’m just sayin’ the truth as I see it. And it’s too damn early in the morning for lies.” Andrea laughed to herself. Her cheeks ran red, but she looked pleased enough with the compliment. She added a few more ingredients to her warmed and refilled coffee. “As long as—you’re a woman with some experience and all…you wanna tell me…in your personal opinion…what the hell someone could do to make that better, I guess?” 

Andrea shrugged.

“There’s no magic solution, I don’t think. Just—patience.”

“I got the king’s ransom of that.”

“And—just make it clear that you don’t feel that way, I guess. Make it clear that—you love her body as much as…she does. More, even. Because you love it even when she doesn’t find it very loveable.” 

Daryl nodded his understanding of what Andrea was saying. 

“You sure you don’t want nothin’ to eat?” 

Andrea laughed to herself.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “I don’t like to eat this early. I like to—wait until I’m a little more awake. Up and around. Besides—Carol’s always got something for me to try when I get there.” 

“I like her a lot,” Daryl said. “Like—a whole lot.”

“I’m—honestly? I’m so happy to hear that,” Andrea said. 

“Sometimes I don’t know if she likes me or if—she just wishes I’d get the hell away from her,” Daryl said. His stomach churned. He was going out on a limb, expecting this woman to tell him something. He didn’t even know what he hoped she would tell him. But he’d told her everything he could think of to prepare her for the night before with Merle. Maybe she’d remember that.

She smiled to herself.

“Carol’s my best friend,” she said. Daryl nodded. “And—frankly? Sometimes she’s her own worst enemy.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Ain’t we all?” 

“Some worse than others,” Andrea said. 

“I’m—serious about this,” Daryl said. “And I don’t want to play games, like I said. So—you think you could throw me some kinda bone here? As long as I’m over here playin’ defense for you with Merle?” 

Andrea cocked an eyebrow at him and gave him a smirk.

“Quid pro quo?” She teased.

“Only fair, don’t you think?” Daryl responded.

“OK. What do you want to know?” Andrea asked.

“I’m readin’ this book she give me to read,” Daryl said. “A romantic book. Got a handful more from her last night.” 

“Carol loves those books,” Andrea mused.

“I know,” Daryl said. “They aren’t bad, really. I mean—I like the story. But—I guess…there’s so much goin’ on in there. What the hell is the most important part? I mean—is it the whole drag her away to a whole new life or…I gotta buy a ranch, or what?”

Andrea laughed to herself.

“They’re not all about ranches or whole new lives,” she offered.

“I’ve only read the one.” 

“I’m telling you, they’re not all the same. Not exactly.” 

“Then what’s the most important part about the romance?” Daryl asked.

“The romance,” Andrea said. “You—you just answered it yourself.”

“But—there’s a lot of types of romance.”

“And Carol loves every single type of it,” Andrea said. “The simple stuff. The big gestures. And—she’s never had any of it.”

“I wanna change that,” Daryl said. “But—like you said, Carol can kinda be her own worst enemy. She don’t exactly offer ideas over freely. I could use a little guidance.” 

Andrea smiled at him.

“Do you have—anything sweet?” 

“Got some cookies,” Daryl said. “Chocolate chip and Oreos are almost always in the cabinet.”

“This early, I could probably think better with cookies,” Andrea offered.

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“Comin’ right up—and I’ll freshen up your coffee, too.”


	24. Chapter 24

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I posted Chapter 23 earlier today, so please don’t miss that one! 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Carol was nervous for most of the day on Friday. Her whole body practically buzzed in anticipation of the date. She’d been out to eat with Daryl. She’d shared coffee with him at the café. She’d shared ice cream with him over a picnic table. It was an entirely different thing, though, to have him spending a casual evening in her home.

Although she meant for the evening to be casual, Carol didn’t want to come off as too slouchy. After work she’d cleaned herself up and carefully selected her outfit, and she’d spent some time in front of the mirror cursing the wild directions her short-shorn curls chose for her hair. As far as makeup went, she wasn’t much of a fan of it, but a little mascara and some lip gloss didn’t hurt.

She’d put out candles, for when the food was ready, and she’d checked and double checked that she had all the ingredients she needed for the salad and baked potatoes. In addition, she had chilled wine breathing and beer chilling in the fridge.

She’d almost had time to talk herself out of it—to convince herself that it was late, and Daryl probably didn’t want to come over this late, and she was tired, and it would be better to do this some other time—when Daryl had arrived. 

Immediately—the precise moment that she opened the door to see him standing there, clearly having rushed home to change clothes and clean up before dinner—a large portion of her anxiety melted away with something like relief. 

She smiled at him.

“Flowers?” 

He grinned and offered her the bouquet that he was holding in one hand. In the other hand, he carried a dish covered with tinfoil—clearly, he’d been marinating the steaks. 

“Georgia wildflowers,” he said.

“They’re beautiful,” Carol said. “So colorful. I buy flowers for myself but…nobody’s ever bought them for me before. Thank you—I’ll put them in water and we can enjoy them on the table.” Daryl nodded that he liked that idea, but didn’t voice it. His cheeks had gone pink, and Carol realized she’d trapped him in the doorway, so she stepped aside to invite him. “Come in. Do you need—help with the steaks?”

“Just need to know where the grill is,” Daryl said. “Got charcoal and lighter fluid in the truck.” 

“Backyard,” Carol said. “You can go out the back door or—the gate’s not locked. Can I help?” 

Daryl shook his head.

“I don’t need help,” he said. “But—I wouldn’t mind the company. If you don’t mind the smell of the grill and all.”

“Let me—put the flowers in some water and put the potatoes on,” Carol said. “Then I could join you. Would you like—something to drink? I bought beer. I wasn’t sure what you drank, but I think it’s the type you got at the restaurant.”

“I’m not picky. Beer sounds good,” Daryl said. “Whatever you got’ll be great.” 

Carol did what she said she would do. She prepared and wrapped the potatoes and set them to bake. She prepped the salad quickly. She put the beautiful flowers in water, and she arranged the vase on the table so that it would be lovely to look at, but wouldn’t interrupt their view of each other as they ate.

Then she poured a glass of wine for herself and grabbed a beer for Daryl. 

Her stomach fluttered, and her heart skipped a beat, when she stepped down the back-porch steps to find Daryl standing out in the yard, looking like he was completely at home, there, grilling steaks for the two of them to enjoy. 

“Is the grill OK?” Carol asked.

“Good,” Daryl said. “Thanks,” he added, when she passed him the beer. “Grill’s good—nice.”

“New,” Carol said. “Practically.” 

“Why don’t you grill?” 

“I just—don’t,” Carol said. “I don’t know why, honestly. We had a get together at a friend’s house—Alice, my friend. Alice. We were at her house. And we grilled burgers and hot dogs. It was so nice that I wanted a grill. I went out immediately and bought one.” Carol shrugged. “I grilled on it once. I guess I didn’t want it as much as I thought I did.” 

Daryl laughed to himself and tasted his beer before he rested it on the attached surface of the grill and stepped back to light a cigarette.

“Sounds to me like you didn’t want the grill,” Daryl offered. “Sounds to me like—maybe you wanted the company. The good time you had with your friend, Alice, and…everyone else that was there. You associated the good time with the grill, but the grill, by itself, weren’t the good time.” 

Carol raised her eyebrows at him.

“Are you a handyman and a psychiatrist?” She asked, finally tasting her wine. It was cool and sweet and perfect for the evening. 

Her face ached. She realized that she hadn’t stopped smiling since Daryl had appeared on her doorstep. The realization made her slightly self-conscious and her stomach twisted in response to it.

Daryl smiled and lifted the lid on the grill to look at the beautiful steaks for which he’d taken responsibility. He fussed with the steaks a moment, closed the lid, and stepped back to remove the cigarette from his lips.

“Not a psychiatrist,” he said. “And—I don’t know how much to say because I’m not sure exactly how much it would take to send you running away screaming.” 

Carol’s chest tightened. She laughed, but she could tell that there was some truth to his words. The way he was looking at her—holding her eyes with his own—told her that he was trying to ask the question in a roundabout way. He wanted to know how close she was to bolting.

Carol tasted her wine and carefully considered his words. She held his eyes with her own. She didn’t want to say anything she didn’t mean. She didn’t want to make promises that she couldn’t keep.

“I’m—trying not to run,” she said finally. “And tonight is supposed to be about me getting to know you, right? You’re supposed to tell me your story.” 

“I think it was you that told me a lifetime’s a long time,” Daryl said. “Makes for a long story.” 

“We’ve got all night,” Carol said.

“Touché,” Daryl said. He drank a long swallow of his beer, and Carol wondered if she should offer him another and run inside for it. He put the beer down, though, and didn’t mention his desire for more at the moment. “You wanna start this now or…?”

“It’s as good a time as any,” Carol said.

Daryl nodded his head. He sighed, and then he laughed quietly to himself.

“Hell—it’s not like you ain’t gonna find out about me if you don’t run, right? And if you gonna run—might as well go ahead and open the gate.” 

“Gate’s unlocked,” Carol said softly. “I don’t think—anybody’s trapped.” 

“That’s one way to look at it,” Daryl said. “Shit—where to begin, huh? You asked about the—psychiatry. I’ll start there. Maybe—maybe not all of it. But enough. Lifetime’s a long time, after all. Uh—so—I’ve read a lot of books. Those self-help type books. Self-help. Self-discovery. All those books. Sometimes they’re worth it, and sometimes they might as well be toilet paper.” 

“I could agree with that,” Carol said. 

“Been to a therapist. To get my head shrunk. That’s what Merle calls it. Not—it’s not somethin’ regular. Not like—I got some kinda standing appointment. Once in a while, I’ll go. But—I’m not crazy, OK? Like I’m not like—axe murderer crazy or somethin’ like that.”

“I never would have thought you were,” Carol assured him, her stomach knotting itself as she listened to him speak—not because she was afraid, but rather because she could practically feel the anxiety radiating off of him as he told her about himself.

“I—uh—went once a long time back just to see what it was about,” Daryl said. “They talk about it like it can cure all your problems. Erase your whole life or something, if you want it to. It didn’t. But—it was a little like payin’ someone to give you advice about shit you couldn’t say to someone else…or you didn’t want to. Payin’ someone to listen to you, even. So, I go—sometimes. Once in a while.”

“I think that’s great,” Carol said. 

“Yeah?” Daryl asked.

“Yeah,” Carol confirmed, nodding her head. “I’ve—thought about it.” 

“Maybe you oughta keep thinkin’ about it,” Daryl said. “Not that I’m sayin’ you’re…you know…not that I’m sayin’ you need it, but…just if it would make you feel better. Clear your head a little.” 

Carol reached out her hand. She rested it on the lower part of Daryl’s arm. He let his eyes drift down to it before he returned them to hold her eyes. She smiled at him.

“The gate’s still unlocked,” Carol offered. “And—I’m not running for it.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“You like your steak—what? Medium-rare?”

“Medium to medium-well,” Carol said.

“Noted,” Daryl said. “I’ll take mine off, then.” 

Carol watched as he transferred his steak to the plate and covered it with the foil.

“I hate for yours to be cold,” Carol said. “Just—waiting on mine.” 

“And I’d hate for yours to be any way you don’t wanna eat it,” Daryl said. “For real, though, it ain’t no problem. It’s just gonna rest an’ be better for it when we get in there to eat.” 

“Can I ask—what you went to the therapist about?” Carol asked. “What you—read the books about? Or is that too personal? You don’t have to say. Not if you don’t want to.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. He lit a new cigarette for himself and took a modest drink from the beer that was sweating, demanding to be drank more quickly than he was drinking. Carol drank a large swallow from her wine glass, aware that it would grow warmer than she wanted it if she simply held it in her hand too long.

“You’ve—told me about your husband,” Daryl said. “Your ex-husband.”

“Ed,” Carol supplied. Daryl nodded. 

“Told me how the hell he used to treat you,” Daryl said. He shook his head. “Nobody should have to live like that. And—no man oughta feel like he has the right to put his hands on his woman like that. On anybody, really.”

“I agree,” Carol said, her heart beating rapidly in her chest at the very mention of Ed.

“My old man was an asshole like that,” Daryl said. “First class.”

Carol’s stomach practically felt like it dropped to her feet. Her chest tightened.

“Daryl—I’m sorry…” Carol said.

“Don’t be,” Daryl said with a laugh. “You know—it’s just a thing.”

“Still…” Carol said.

“Still…” Daryl echoed, some teasing in his tone. “I’m just tellin’ you what you asked. Not because I want pity, but because…hell you say you like honesty. Here it is. I’m bein’ honest. My old man was an asshole. My Mama—she died way too early. Before I was ready to be without her, I guess. Maybe. Sudden. A house fire. Merle was damn near my Mama and my Daddy, all rolled into one, for most of my life.” Daryl laughed to himself. “If that ain’t enough to make you think about goin’ to sit with some therapist for an hour, just to see what it’s all about—I don’t know what is.”

“I’m sorry,” Carol said, again. “Those words sound empty, though. Emptier than I—than I want them to be.” 

“Don’t they always? Really, though…it’s alright. I’m answerin’ your question. Nothin’ more’n that.” He lifted the lid on the grill, moved the steak around, and examined it. Leaving the lid up, he turned his attention to finishing his cigarette. “You haven’t met my brother yet.”

“No,” Carol confirmed. Daryl laughed to himself.

“Maybe I’m tryin’ to save you from that experience,” Daryl said. “He’s—we’ll say he’s unique. He’s a fuckin’ asshole when he wants to be. To be honest, he means well most the time. Just not real good at knowin’ when he ought to not be an asshole. He’d give a saint a hard-damn time.” 

Carol laughed to herself.

“I’m looking forward to meeting him,” she offered. 

“He’s gonna be glad to meet you, too. But he’s gonna give me hell. That’s just how he is. You—uh—you got any plans about…introducing me to anyone?” 

“There’s no one to introduce you to,” Carol said. “My parents are deceased. I lost touch with my family when I was married to Ed. He was—he was an isolator. It was part of his way of keeping tight control over me and everything that happened between us. I tried to reconnect with some of my family when we first got divorced, but…sometimes rifts are a little too deep and a little too wide.”

“You got friends, though. They’re like your family, ain’t they?” 

Carol smiled to herself.

“You want to meet my girlfriends?” 

Daryl shrugged his shoulders and moved her steak, covering it on the plate. He didn’t immediately move to go inside, though. Maybe they were letting the steaks rest, as he’d said. 

“If they’re like your family, I’m going to meet ‘em sooner or later, right? Might as well—let ‘em go ahead and judge me. Tell you what the hell they think of me.” He snubbed his cigarette out and finished the beer in a swallow. Carol watched as he took the spent butts and dropped them in the empty beer bottle. He looked at her, but quickly looked away. “Tell you—that—you could do a hell of a lot better.” 

Carol drank her wine down—the rest of the glass. Maybe it was to match him, drink for drink. Maybe it was to give her something to do to cover over the discomfort she felt in her stomach at his words.

“They wouldn’t say that,” she said, shaking her head.

Daryl laughed to himself—she could feel that it was put on. Forced. It was something to cover up his actual feelings in the moment. 

“What else was it you wanted to know?” He asked. She sensed the question was purely hypothetical. She sensed that, in what he’d already said, there was a hint of the answer that, more than likely, he’d probably been rehearsing in nervous preparation for the evening. 

She could feel his anxiety, and it made her own stomach ache with understanding and empathy. 

“What you’re doing here,” Carol said. “Making—steaks for me. For us to share. Instead of being home, right now, with some…amazing wife.”

Daryl nodded his head. 

“Yeah—I thought that’s what you asked about,” he mused. He reached for the platter of steaks, and Carol freed his hands to fully support it by taking the empty beer bottle from him. “Come on—I’ma need another beer, and the flies are biting.” 

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AN: I should warn you that it’s a big night, so there’s going to be more than one part to “Friday night.” 

I normally try not to double/triple post on the same story in one day, but someone is recovering and I know this would make her feel better, so I’m breaking my own “rule.” That being said, please don’t forget the last chapter, too! 

I hope you enjoyed! Don’t forget to let me know what you think!


	25. Chapter 25

AN: Here we are, another part of Friday night. 

I updated twice yesterday, so please don’t miss those (before this one) if you haven’t read them. 

I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!

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Before Daryl continued his story, he helped plate the food. He helped set the table. Once, Carol was sure that he feigned an accidental reach around with silverware to have a moment’s excuse to be as close to her as he could be—his body almost flush against her back. The split second of close contact had sent a shiver through her body, in the best way possible, and for some time afterward, she imagined that she could still feel the sensation of his touch like an imprint.

She lit the candles on the table for the warm light they would provide, and she lit a candle on the kitchen counter for the scent of dessert—which they didn’t have—that would eliminate some of the food smells and, from what she’d heard, stimulate their appetites even more than the scent of their own meals.

Carol got Daryl a beer, and Daryl poured her wine, teasingly filling the glass far beyond the regular acceptable mark.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Carol teased, settling into her chair.

“Tell you what,” Daryl said, offering her a crooked and mischievous smile from across the table—that smile being one of the reasons that her face ached so badly from smiling back at him, “I’m not much of a lightweight so, if you need it, I’ll drive you home tonight.” 

Carol laughed to herself.

“Wow, what a gentleman.”

“I try. I haven’t had a baked potato and a good salad in forever at home. And I mean—they’re simple enough to do, right? This is incredible.” 

“It’s just a—baked potato,” Carol said. “And a salad. Simple. Like you said.”

Daryl shrugged. 

“Maybe I like simple,” Daryl offered. “Good to me. How’s your steak? Cooked alright for you?” 

Carol had only just cut into the piece of meat, but she quickly isolated a small bite of it and tasted it. She smiled and nodded approvingly as she chewed, and Daryl’s smile grew while he watched her.

“Perfect,” she assured him. 

“Good,” Daryl said. “Because—I don’t want to see you doing any of that not eating thing. It’s a good meal. Well-balanced, right? So—eat up.”

Carol smiled to herself. She could, if she wanted to, blame the slightly dizzy feeling of intoxication on the wine, but she knew it wasn’t the wine. The wine wasn’t a very strong wine. That was why she had chosen it, in particular, for the evening. She knew that she could drink more of it with less effects than some other wines. The intoxication she felt—the delicious dizzy feeling—was most assuredly a response to nothing beyond perfectly pleasant company.

And Carol know why that thought made her heart thunder wildly in her chest. 

She had invited him here, though. She had asked him to come and tell his story. From what she could tell, so far, it wasn’t an easy story to tell, either, but he’d chosen to come and tell it to her willingly. 

“Can I ask you something, Daryl?” Carol asked.

He nodded and washed down a bite of his food with a swallow of beer.

“That’s the theme of the evening, right?” He responded. “So, you ask and—I’ll answer if I can. Or—the best way I can.”

“Are you always so honest?” Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

“That a genuine question?” Carol hummed and nodded. “Alright. Yeah. I guess I am.”

“Straightforward and honest all the time?” Carol mused.

“I mean—I tell a little white lie here or there,” Daryl said. “I’m not a saint. But—maybe it’s just part of my personality. I’ve always been this way. Used to irritate the shit outta Merle. He’d always tell me to just keep my mouth shut when he was workin’ up some kinda thing and he needed me to just…to just not fuck it up for him.”

“Most people aren’t very honest, Daryl.”

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

“I guess I know that,” he said. “Maybe it’s at least part of why I am. I used to think everything was honest. Straightforward. Used to believe all the mind fuckin’ my old man used to do. The shit Merle would say when he was—when, I know now—when he was just fucked up and tryin’ to run away from everything. He used to say that, when you tell a lie? You gotta stick to it. Stick to it good. Lies have a way of turnin’ into a spider’s web. Wrappin’ around you, you know? You get yourself caught in your own shit. Seemed like a lot of work, to me, for some bullshit. When I realized that—people weren’t honest most of the time? I felt like I come to a crossroads. Talked about this, some, actually, with the therapist. I could either decide to change and be like most people or I could…piss the people off that would be pissed off with the truth, irritate the ones that would find it irritating, and keep on bein’ who the hell I felt it was reasonable to be.”

Daryl stopped speaking and forked up a large bite of salad. He speared a piece of steak on the end of the fork to mix the flavors and filled his mouth.

“So, you decided to be honest,” Carol said, filling in the end for him. 

“Easier,” Daryl said. “Feels more natural. You hate it, too?” 

“No,” Carol said. “I told you I wanted honesty, and I do.”

“But you think it’s weird,” Daryl said. “People think I’m weird. You think I’m weird.”

Carol laughed to herself.

“I think you’re—a lot of things,” she admitted. “But weird doesn’t really concern me. The honesty is refreshing. I like it.” 

“What concerns you, then?” Daryl asked. Carol hummed at him in question. She’d lost the thread, for a moment, as she’d somewhat slipped into her own contemplation of the man who sat across from her. 

“You said weird don’t concern you,” Daryl said. “So—what concerns you?” 

“A lot of things,” Carol admitted. She chewed through a bite of food and Daryl honored the silence between them, clearly not feeling that he needed to try to fill it. “Maybe that—after Ed? I really like the idea of the honesty. But, also, maybe that it seems too good to be true.” 

“To my knowledge, I haven’t lied to you yet.” 

“Which is very noble,” Carol said.

“I can’t put my finger on why, exactly,” Daryl offered, “but I don’t think I like the way you said that.”

Carol’s stomach clenched. She accepted his quickly furrowed brow and change in tone. 

“I guess—I’m still wondering why there’s no Mrs. Dixon,” Carol admitted. 

Her stomach made her not really want the food in front of her, suddenly. She liked Daryl, but he seemed, in many ways, too good to be true—and that was a little terrifying. Ed had taught her not to trust what she saw, and she’d promised herself that she’d hold onto that hard-learned lesson. Now she was asking herself to let that guard down and to trust Daryl—someone who seemed, honestly, to have more positive traits than negative ones. Someone whose negative traits didn’t really seem all that hard to deal with. It was terribly uneasy territory.

“You keep—putting it off,” Carol said. “And that makes me wonder if…”

“I’m hidin’ something?” Daryl supplied. Carol nodded. Daryl sighed and chewed through another bite of steak. “Maybe I’m kinda—nervous. You think about that?” 

“Nervous?” 

“I don’t know that the answer I got to give you is gonna be the one you expect. Or—that it’s gonna be good enough.” 

“I thought you were always honest.”

“I am. But—the honest answer still isn’t the one that people want to believe. Not all the time.”

Carol sucked in a breath and held it a moment to still her own nerves. She could see it on Daryl’s face. He was being honest, just like he said he would. He was nervous. In a way, it made Carol feel better. She didn’t want him to be uncomfortable, but she appreciated the fact that everything didn’t come as easy to him as he made it seem like it did.

Suddenly, looking worried that she might not approve of his story, he seemed a great deal more human.

Carol felt her muscles relax slightly.

“Tell you what,” Carol offered. “You be honest and—I’ll accept your honesty.” 

Daryl nodded his head.

“I can’t answer that question direct,” Daryl said. “Not like—not with like a couple words or whatever. It’s more like—a story, if you’re gonna understand it.”

“Answer it however you like,” Carol said. She sipped her wine. “We’ve got all night, right?” 

Daryl smiled to himself.

“This ain’t no fairy tale,” he warned.

“I’m listening,” Carol assured him. 

“OK,” Daryl said, around a mouthful of food. “Well—I told you that Merle was basically my Mama and my Daddy, for all intents and purposes. I know you weren’t born in Living Springs.”

“I moved here with Ed,” Carol said. “He preferred it because it was away from anyone who knew me. Who knew us.” 

“I knew you weren’t from here,” Daryl said. “Because—if you were? You’d either know some of the story because you remembered it, or you’d know about it because somebody told you. It’d start comin’ back to you by now. My old man was an asshole, as was his old man before him. Assholes beget assholes beget assholes…or ain’t that the way the story goes?” 

Carol laughed to herself. Daryl’s expression said that he was trying to inject a little humor into an otherwise not very funny story, and she appreciated that. She assumed it was as much for him, though, as it was for her comfort.

“Go ahead,” she pressed.

“My Mama weren’t strong enough to get away from my old man,” Daryl said. “She run away from him with the bottle, I guess. I loved her. I remember that much, but…I didn’t get to know her that long. When she died, you know, she was just gone. Burned away in our house. Everything was gone.” 

“Daryl—I’m sorry.” 

He just shook his head in response. 

“Old man come around less, then. Eventually, he just stopped comin’ around entirely. It was just me an’ Merle.” Daryl laughed to himself. “Merle raised me, I guess. And it weren’t ‘til I was older, and I did sit down with that therapist, that I really realized—I guess he did the best he could ‘cause nobody really raised Merle but Merle.” 

“You love your brother very much,” Carol offered.

Daryl laughed to himself.

“We don’t get too sappy about it,” Daryl offered. “Anyway—I didn’t really think about all that shit back then ‘cause I was a stupid ass, knobby-kneed kid, you know? All I thought about was my Mama was dead. Our house was burned up. We lost everything but what the hell we were wearin’. But—Merle got a roof over our heads, you know? Some damn way he done it. We hunted. Merle worked like hell. I started workin’ early. Odd jobs. Anything I could do. Merle let me have some of it, of what I earned, for— for shit like candy. Pooled the rest. It weren’t much, but somehow I never remember goin’ hungry or bein’ too damn naked.”

Carol held her fork in her hand, even though she’d lost the desire to eat. She didn’t want Daryl to think she was avoiding her meal. She did her best to wash down her feelings with some of the wine. Daryl stared at her and, apparently realizing the moment was quite heavy, he laughed to himself with a forced breath.

“Merle weren’t much of a homemaker,” Daryl mused. “Maybe that’s where all the shit started.”

“Where what started?” Carol asked. She was aware that her voice cracked, slightly. She swallowed against the lump in her throat and hoped that she was doing a better job of hiding her feelings than she thought she might be.

“If you come to our house any time—and it’s been this way since the first time we finally could afford them cable packages—you gonna find out that we don’t watch shit else but cookin’ channels about shit we don’t never cook and them romance movies.”

“You’ve told me that,” Carol said. “Do you think—it’s because you wanted a home like…the ones in the movies?” 

Daryl smiled to himself and nodded.

“I think that’s got a lot to do with it,” he said. “You told me what you wanted…”

Carol groaned. A wave of embarrassment surged up inside of her. 

“I’m so embarrassed about that, still,” she admitted. Daryl laughed. 

“Don’t be,” he said. “Saves me from askin’. My point is—I’ve always wanted what the hell was in those movies. You know? A home that’s warm and—smells as good as those houses look like they smell. Big, fenced-in back yard with a dog. The two point five kids. A wife for all the ‘how was your day’ and ‘welcome home’ bullshit.” 

“That’s pretty romantic,” Carol teased. The idea was certainly romantic, even if Daryl didn’t quite express his ideas with the words of a romance writer. Carol eased out of her chair. Without asking, she passed Daryl another beer. She topped off her glass of wine—filling it far beyond the respectable full point. On second thought, she tucked another beer under her arm.

“What’cha doin’?” Daryl asked.

“The eating’s slowed down a little,” Carol said. “If you’re done—I thought…you might want to sit out on the back porch?” 

Daryl smiled at her and nodded.

“At least let me help clean up?” 

“It’ll be fine for now,” Carol said. “Blow out the candles? Meet me out back?” 

Daryl nodded. Carol took the drinks—both beers tucked under her arms so she could open the back door. She arranged the chairs on the back porch so that they could sit somewhat facing one another. She moved the small table for their drinks, and she put the bottom to an empty flowerpot on the table. She lit one of the little citronella candles that would keep away the insects that might want to bother them. By the time Daryl came out, she’d taken her seat.

“Found your bathroom,” Daryl said. “You got—good smellin’ soap.” He sniffed his fingers as evidence of his assessment of her soap. 

“That was rude of me,” Carol said as Daryl took the seat next to her, opened a beer, and drank a long swallow from it. “I meant to tell you where it was.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Daryl said.

“I don’t have a real ashtray, but…you can use the flowerpot bottom.” 

“Perfect.” 

“So—your dream, Daryl. Everything you want. It’s…romantic.” 

“It’s from the romance movies,” Daryl said with a laugh. “Had a pretty good chance.”

“That still doesn’t explain to me, though, why there’s no Mrs. Dixon welcoming you home to that house, Daryl,” Carol said, her stomach tightening at the fact that she even dared to be so bold—but Daryl made her feel like she was free to ask him these things. So far, he hadn’t scolded her for her curiosity. He hadn’t punished her—not like Ed would have done. “It’s a simple enough dream.”

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Is it?” He asked. “You really believe it’s—a simple enough dream to have all that?” 

“Well—for some people,” Carol amended, realizing that her own dreams—though very similar—had not come true either. 

“Well, I ain’t some people,” Daryl said. “Truth of it is that—I’ve dated a few women. Tried to figure out how to stuff ‘em in my damn romance novel world. But—there’s always been a couple problems. Either they didn’t fit ‘cause they weren’t lookin’ for that kind of life, or they didn’t fit ‘cause they weren’t lookin’ for this kinda man. And, really—I weren’t never sold on none of them either, but I convinced myself I could be for a while. Like—if I found the kind of woman that could want that, I could make myself want her, and I could make her want me. You know? If she fit, maybe I could just make the feelings come with it.” He laughed to himself. “Prob’ly dodged a bullet because none of the women I ever talked to that mighta wanted that life wanted it with someone like me.” 

Daryl drank half the beer in a long swallow. He lit a cigarette. He rocked in the chair and sat back, clearly satisfied—with the food, the beer, the cigarette, or the company, Carol couldn’t be sure. 

She felt the easy relaxation of satisfaction in her own body. It pushed out the trembling anxiety that she felt just a little.

She realized she’d forgotten her wine glass and rocked forward to retrieve it from the table, though she didn’t drink from it when she held it in her hand. It was simply there—but she didn’t need it.

“Someone like you,” she mused. Daryl hummed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Ask a woman—do you want this…this idea? A house, fenced-in backyard. Dog. Two point five kids. The whole welcome home, honey shit? Hell, yeah, most of ‘em say. But you ask ‘em if they want that with some asshole who come from drunks, whose old man was an asshole of the first degree, whose Mama burned up, who ain’t got more’n a high school education and, really, probably only got that ‘cause his teachers felt sorry for him or some shit, and who has worked blue collar jobs with his hands his whole life—livin’ in a trailer house with his brother? It’s somethin’ to see. She can’t get out the door fast enough.”

Daryl drained the first beer Carol had brought out. He examined the bottle a moment. A clear change came over his demeanor. Carol almost thought she could feel it in the air that wrapped around her. When he looked at her, Carol’s chest squeezed in response to the sadness that had settled, somehow, in his eyes and on his features.

“Is that how you see yourself?” Carol asked. 

“Truth,” Daryl responded, still contemplating the empty bottle. He looked at her, then. The sad smile he gave her was insincere. “Gate’s open,” he offered. “Unlocked.” 

Carol leaned up and returned her wine glass to the little table. She took the unopened beer, opened it, and passed it to Daryl. He took it without ever taking his eyes away from her. 

Carol sat back in her chair.

“No,” she said. “It’s not. I—closed it for the night. Locked it.” She held his eyes. His expression changed slightly, but he didn’t pull his eyes away from hers. Her throat was tight. Her chest was tight. Everything inside her screamed at her—a million different messages at once. Her brain cried out to her with advice about how to handle everything in that moment. She’d already chosen which of her internal messages she was going to listen to, though, and she wasn’t certain that it was coming from her brain at all. She sucked in a breath and ignored her pounding heart. “You—like honesty. I’m guessing that means you’d like honesty from other people?” 

“Prefer it,” Daryl said quietly.

Carol nodded.

“You said no before, and I understand why. But—if you say it again, my pride might not let me ask a third time. So, you should know that. You’ve had a few beers tonight and, although I know that…you’ll probably say you’re good to drive, I wish you wouldn’t. Stay the night?” 

Daryl stared at her a second, drank a long swallow from the beer in his hand, and took another cigarette from his pack. He was clearly thinking. She could practically hear the wheels in his head turning. She wondered if everything inside of him felt as loud as everything inside of her felt at that moment. She accepted the cigarette he offered her. She accepted the light. She tried to read his face, but there was nothing there that she could decipher. 

Finally, he smiled to himself, a little more sincerely than before. 

“When you put it like that,” he offered with a quiet laugh. “How can I say no?” 

Carol’s stomach clenched.

“You can always refuse,” she assured him.

The quiet laughter was renewed. 

“You heard me wrong, then,” he said. “Because I don’t want to. Not for anything in the world.”


	26. Chapter 26

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. It’s the last of Friday night. It’s also super long because there was nowhere to cut it. 

Smut/sex warning.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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The kisses came easy.

The kisses—barely more than sweet little pecks—exchanged on the porch tasted like beer, and smoke, and a little like citronella. 

The kisses that Daryl trailed down Carol’s neck while he was waiting to dry the dishes that she washed tasted like lotion and sweat—like Carol.

The kisses that Carol gave Daryl when she’d dried her hands and backed him against the kitchen counter tasted like the sweet wine she’d drank just before pouring the rest out and declaring that she really wasn’t in the mood for wine.

The words came easy, too.

“We don’t have to,” Daryl assured Carol as he caught her, on the way to her bedroom with her tugging at his hand, and took a moment to kiss her in the dark doorway. “If you don’t want to, I can wait.”

Some of the reality, though—the things they both had to face—was a little bit more complicated.

Carol pulled away, and Daryl let her go. He meant what he’d said. He could wait. 

Carol was beautiful. He’d always heard that the eyes were the windows to the soul, but he felt like he could really see so much of her in her eyes. She had a smile that would light up the room, and a laugh that made his heart beat out of control. She was soft and easy to be around. 

And if there was any chance in the world—Daryl hardly dared to dream of what there might be a chance—then he could wait however long she needed.

Carol walked into her bedroom and switched on a bedside lamp that bathed the room in a soft glow. She stood, for a moment, seeming to examine the grain in her wood floor. Then she sat on the edge of the bed.

“I didn’t mean to trap you here,” Carol said. “Or—to make you feel like you’re under some obligation to stay, Daryl. And if that’s how you feel, then I do apologize.” 

“The hell are you talking about?” Daryl asked. “I’m not trapped.”

“Then—is it me?” Carol asked. “Is there something about me that makes you not want to…”

Daryl’s gut reacted a little violently to the immediate realization that she’d read him wrong. She’d misinterpreted his meaning. She was feeling insecure, and that was the last thing he’d intended. At least, though, he knew what she wanted. That knowledge made his heart pound—half in anxiety over the possibility of disappointing her and half in excitement for what might be to come. 

Daryl screwed his courage up, telling himself that, no matter how disappointing his actual performance may be, it wouldn’t hurt her feelings more than turning her down.

Daryl answered her by crossing the room, quickly to where she was. He answered her by kissing her with every ounce of determination that he could muster. Tasting her mouth only made him want to taste more of it—more of her. He’d taken quick inventory of her outfit. He knew how much she was wearing. He knew how much he had to get through and remove before she was revealed to him.

He remembered her body, vaguely, from that night weeks before. He remembered it being beautiful but, otherwise, he had no specific recollection and his memories grew fuzzier with each moment. 

He pushed her legs apart, stepping between them, to allow him to deepen the kisses that he shared with her even as he slipped his fingers under the bottom of her shirt. The shirt was over her head in a moment. She stared at him with pink cheeks. There was something there—some look of being unsure about something—in her eyes. Daryl took a chance that it was a reflection of her being unsure about his reaction to her body, and not being unsure about what they were doing. 

He leaned and kissed the tops of her breasts—one and then the other—as they were nestled in her bra. He let his hands run over her rib cage and around to her back. Her skin was soft, and he wanted to bite her though he had no rational reason to want to do so. 

Instead of biting her, he struggled with the clasp on her bra for what felt like an eternity—ten or twelve seconds probably—before her fingers came and took over, helping him to free the clasp. 

“Perfect,” he breathed out as her breasts were freed. 

Carol pushed back against him. She came to her feet. She sought more kisses, and she peppered his jaw and neck with sweet pecks. Daryl felt her breath blowing warm against him as she panted as though the kisses brought her pleasure that she could barely contain. He was already growing hard, but the sound of her soft panting only made him grow that much harder. 

He caught her hands and stopped them as her fingers began to work their way down the buttons of his shirt. She looked at him, her eyes full of question, as he worked her hands in his.

“If you’re like me, you don’t remember a lot from—that night,” Daryl said. Carol shook her head gently.

“No,” she said, practically whispering. “Not—not much.”

“I got—scars,” Daryl said. “And—they ain’t pretty.” 

“I’ve got scars, too,” Carol offered softly. “Ed left them everywhere.”

Daryl laughed nervously to himself and worked her hands in his, the movement of his fingers relieving some of his anxiety.

“But you’re beautiful,” he offered.

She smiled at him, softly, and it was a beautiful smile. It made his chest ache just to know that he could put that smile on her face. 

“Let me see,” she said softly. “Please?” 

Daryl let go of her hands and nodded. She worked the buttons until the shirt fell loose. Her hands trailed around his chest. The soft touch of her hands on his skin and the warmth of her palms renewed his interest. She kissed his chest with the same tenderness that she’d used to kiss his neck and, as she removed his shirt, she circled around his body.

Daryl closed his eyes, his lungs struggling to pull in enough air, as she gently ran her fingertips over the scars that he knew she was seeing. He sucked in a breath, bringing air into his struggling lungs, and held it—awaiting judgement. He couldn’t blame her. They were awful. Garish. And, somehow, he didn’t carry them in quite the same manner that Merle carried the ones that decorated his body.

He let the breath out, his lungs still aching, when he felt her lips kiss his back as tenderly as they’d kissed his neck and chest. He felt her face nuzzle against him. 

“Beautiful,” she breathed out, and when he turned quickly and pulled her around to face him, her blue eyes glittered with dampness. “So strong,” she offered, her voice cracking just slightly.

Daryl swallowed. Everything about her—no matter the changes that seemed to take place with every passing second as they floated in some kind of almost dream-like state—everything made him want her more. He wanted to be so close to her that he nearly imagined that he wanted to consume her. 

“Do a lot of heavy lifting,” he offered, trying to lighten the mood a little. 

“I wasn’t talking about your muscles, Daryl,” Carol offered. “Though—they’re nice, too.” 

He did. He wanted to consume her—or, at the very least, he wanted to come as close to it as he could. He cupped her breast and ran his thumb over the nipple. He watched grow hard with his attention, and his body reminded him of his own situation. He ran his other thumb over the other nipple. He pinched it and Carol bit her lip. A soft moan escaped her.

“Why don’t’cha—get on that bed? Put your strong aside for a minute? Just—be soft?” 

Carol licked her lip. He could practically feel her anxiety, but she went to stand against the bed. 

“Leave these on or off?” She asked, catching the waistband of her pants. 

“What do you want?” Daryl asked, dropping the ball back in her court and forcing her to make it clear to him that her intentions and desires hadn’t changed. She flicked the button on her pants and visibly sucked in a breath before she worked them down her hips. She came out of everything except her panties, and she sat back on the bed. Her chest heaved as Daryl approached her. Daryl kissed her, and she held the back of his head, requesting that the kiss last longer. “Lay back,” Daryl said—half command and half request. 

“Being—soft,” Carol said. “Makes me nervous.” 

“You can trust me,” Daryl assured her. She did lie back on the bed. Daryl put a knee between her legs to reach her better. He licked her neck. Her collarbone. He tasted her like he wanted. The soft skin of her breasts—so much softer than anything else—gave way differently under his tongue. He drew her nipple into his mouth and suckled it. She moved and ground herself against the knee that rested between her legs. Daryl groaned in response and bit her nipple gently. Her fingernails scratched into his arms as she ground herself harder against his knee and gasped. “You OK?” Daryl asked, releasing her.

Her pupils were dilated dramatically. She nodded and hummed her answer. Daryl smiled to himself. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties and worked them down as he kissed the soft skin of her stomach, her muscles jumping at the action. Daryl flicked her panties to the floor to be lost somewhere among the other discarded clothing. 

He dipped his head and smelled her—earthy and warm. He caught his thumbs under her knees and lifted them. He kissed the inside of her thigh as he turned her, toed off his shoes as quickly as he could, joined her on the bed, and moved to direct her legs over his shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Carol asked.

“You can say no any time you want,” Daryl offered as his only response. “I’m hopin’ you won’t, but you can.” He kissed her stomach again and peppered kisses down to the start of the soft curls. 

“You don’t have to,” Carol said. 

Daryl smiled to himself. “Don’t have to” and “I don’t want” were entirely different things. Daryl licked his lips at the anticipation of the taste of her. He so wanted to taste her.

“One thing I do remember is—you liked this.” He laughed to himself. “I’ve never had a woman push my head down to make sure I knew she wanted her pussy eat.” 

“Oh shit…oh…please…tell me I didn’t,” Carol lamented, covering her face with her hands. Daryl laughed to himself and worked her thigh muscles in his hands. In response, he dipped his head and, catching her clit, he suckled it the same way that he’d suckled her nipple before. She raised up off the bed, forcing her hips toward him in an involuntary manner and let out a choked noise. 

“You did,” Daryl offered. “But—don’t get me wrong. It was hot as hell. And—I liked it.” He dipped his head and suckled her again. Her face was still covered with her hands, but she’d relaxed. She moaned and moved into him again. He caught her hips, lifting her. “I like it,” he said, licking her, paying special attention to the spot he knew she wanted him to tease. She cried out and moved her hands, this time grabbing up the blanket and twisting it in her fingers. “Shit—I like you,” Daryl said, almost feeling like he’d lose control and come just from her reaction to his attentions. Still, he stayed at his work until her body shook and jerked every time he touched it. He stayed until she pulled at him, begging him to kiss her—to come to her.

Her breath was ragged when he did kiss her. She was shaking—trembling. Her fingers were clumsy as she tried to get his pants unbuttoned. 

“Let me help,” he offered. He climbed off the bed long enough to shuck his pants and underwear—there was no need being coy, at this point. He burrowed a second in his pants, found his wallet, and pulled out the two condoms he’d tucked there. He tossed one at the nightstand and kept the other in his hand as he rejoined her on the bed and kissed her again, her hands trailing over his body and her fingertips dancing along the ridges of his scars in a way that he’d never allowed anyone—ever—to touch him.

Carol’s hand trailed down his arm and found his hand. She took the condom from him, and he let her have the foil-wrapped package. She smiled at him, raising her eyebrow.

“Prepared?” She teased.

“I thought you might appreciate it,” Daryl offered.

“And I thought I was the one that—thought of inviting you to stay,” Carol said. “I thought it was my idea.”

Daryl’s stomach clenched and his chest tightened slightly.

“It’s not what you think,” he said. 

Carol’s smile faded slightly. He was aware of her body beneath his. He was aware of the warmth of her as they casually rested together. He was aware of the slight release of pressure as his body focused on the conversation instead of the action that lie ahead—as long as he hadn’t ruined the moment entirely.

“You’re just prepared in case—anything comes up?” Carol asked. “Anytime or…with anyone?” 

Daryl’s stomach twisted—not at her words, but at her tone of voice. His body responded to the sound of betrayal. He ducked his head and kissed her again. He rolled off of her enough to use his hand to brush her face affectionately with his fingertips.

“You want honesty? I try to always carry ‘em. I always mean to carry ‘em. Sometimes I forget, but…it’s somethin’ Merle’s always told me to do. So—yeah—I try to remember to carry ‘em, just in case. And—I use ‘em when I got a reason to, but…it’s been real rare the occasion when I’ve needed ‘em. That’s the truth. But the rest of the truth is—I didn’t have ‘em that night when I went to Salty’s. When I met you. I’ve carried ‘em since then. But—truthfully—I haven’t thought about usin’ ‘em with nobody else but you since then. And that’s the gospel.” 

Daryl caressed her face with his fingers, and then with his lips. She returned his kisses, nipping his lip in response. 

“You’ve thought about using them with me?” She asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

“At the risk of soundin’ like a pig? Ever since we first got coffee.” 

Carol hummed and smiled to herself. She reached her hand down and stroked him. Whatever interest his dick had lost in what they were doing was immediately returned with a vengeance. She looked pleased as he surged back to life in her hand. She leaned and kissed his jaw. 

“In that case,” she said, “you better not try to wait much longer.” She showed him the condom she was holding. “You need help?” 

“Better if I do it, honestly,” Daryl said, sitting up and taking it from her. She released him, but she watched him roll the condom on. “Your fingers touchin’ me just makes me sure this is going to be damn disappointin’ to you. And I’ma apologize for that ahead of time.”

“I can’t be disappointed,” Carol offered. “But—I know something I remember now.” 

“What’s that?” Daryl asked, coming back to kiss her again. He dipped his hand between her legs to tease her clit, making sure that she hadn’t lost any interest in the interval. Her body jerked in response, and she opened her mouth to him, but he kept up his work. She panted in appreciation. 

“You ought to warn someone about that,” Carol said.

“About what?” 

“You’re very well-endowed, Daryl,” Carol said. “And—I don’t know if it’ll fit, to be honest.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Fit before,” he offered.

“Barely,” Carol said. 

“Don’t matter how close it is, as long as it works, right?” Daryl asked. He arranged himself so that he could see what he was doing. He massaged Carol’s hips as he changed her position. She was tight—tighter than he remembered, and she pulled away from him, with a moan of disagreement, as he pushed to enter her. He held her hips a moment and simply worked the muscles there. “Easy,” he offered. 

She laughed to herself. 

“I’m not a horse,” she said. 

“No—but you sure is runnin’ away from the ride,” Daryl offered. “You don’t want it?” 

“I do,” Carol said. “I just—got nervous. You have to go ahead, OK? I just got nervous. Tensed.”

Daryl tried again and she tensed again. He could feel it as her body rejected him and practically locked down to refuse him entry. He laughed to himself. Carefully, he changed his position to kiss her. To nuzzle her neck. Pepper her skin with the same soft kisses as before. Slowly, she relaxed under him. Her hips settled a little, opened more to him, and he followed her. In an instant, he grabbed her, drawing her into his arms to hold her, as he rolled his hips and quickly seated himself inside of her. With his lips against hers, he stole her surprised squeak.

He held her, a moment, and didn’t move until he felt her relax around him. At first, he’d been unsure he could even move if he’d wanted to, but slowly she made room for him. She welcomed him.

He relaxed as she did. 

“Fits,” he offered with the first slow thrusts.

He’d almost feared her reaction to him, but she smiled. She even laughed quietly, as her fingers trailed over his skin.

“Asshole,” she muttered.

“I’m sorry. You told me to go ahead.” 

“Better this way,” Carol said. “In now.” 

“I can stop,” he offered. 

“You better not,” she said, a teasing threat in her voice. “Oh,” she responded, tipping her head back as he increased his speed.

Though she repeated the sound, the conversation fell off. Daryl couldn’t focus on it. All he could focus on was how good she felt. How good he felt. How her face changed as the sensations changed. He heard the sounds she made, and he saw the expressions she made. He wished, for one brief second, that they could stay connected just as they were forever, and then he betrayed himself by only increasing his speed—the speed at which they raced toward breaking apart—because he couldn’t help himself.

Before he knew it, it was done and he was tossing the condom in her bathroom trash can and feeling oddly sad about the whole thing—sad about being there, in the bathroom, where it suddenly felt unusually cold despite the comfortable temperature in the house.

Daryl relieved himself and washed his hands. He heard the sound of Carol bumping around—gone to the other bathroom for guests and anyone not allowed in her bathroom. 

For a moment it had all been so perfect and then it was simply over. Daryl felt heavy. He felt like everything was heavy. Even the air around him was heavy. 

“Daryl?” Carol called from the bedroom.

“Yeah?” Daryl responded.

“Are you OK?” 

The question made his chest tighten. It wasn’t one he was used to being asked.

He stepped out of the bathroom. Carol was in the bed. She’d moved over—all the way to one side. She’d pulled the cover back like an invitation. She patted the mattress to further the invitation and smiled at Daryl in the lamplight.

“I ought to ask you that,” Daryl said. 

Her smile renewed itself. 

“Truth?” She asked.

“I prefer it,” Daryl said.

“I’m a little—sore,” Carol said.

“I’m sorry,” Daryl said, sincerely meaning it. She smiled at him and patted the bed. “Really—I am.” 

“It’s alright,” she said. “I’m just not used to it. That’s all.” Daryl’s heart drummed in his chest. It sounded like she was saying that she intended to get used to it. It sounded like this wasn’t, simply, done. But Daryl was almost afraid of the hope that something so simple stirred up. 

“Anything I can do to—make you feel better?” Daryl asked. 

Carol nodded her head.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Anything,” Daryl offered. “I’ll do it. Just—tell me.” 

“I—understand if you want to sleep on the couch,” Carol said. “But—it might make me feel better if…you’d come to bed. At least for a little while?” 

“That’ll make you less sore?” Daryl asked.

“No,” Carol said, laughing quietly to herself. “But—it’ll make me feel better about it.” 

Daryl didn’t have to be asked twice. He came straight to bed and crawled under the cover. He switched the lamp off without Carol asking. She came to him, requesting a kiss, and he fulfilled her request. She wriggled downward and fitted herself against him, facing him, and he hugged her, holding her to him in the position that she chose. 

She sighed and the sound made Daryl’s heart pick up a beat in response.

Daryl closed his eyes. It was impossible to know what dawn would bring but, in this moment, everything was perfect.


	27. Chapter 27

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl woke up slowly. Gently. He drifted into his reality and stretched his back even as he came into consciousness. 

It took him a moment to become fully aware.

The ceiling was the first thing he noticed—different. Quickly, his brain reminded him where he was. He’d spent the night at Carol’s house. He’d spent the night in her bed. She’d offered him the choice of sleeping on the couch, if he wanted, but that hadn’t been what he’d wanted at all—he wasn’t sure what she thought might drive him to choose that option.

The second thing he realized was that he was not alone. Carol was there, in her bed, with him. And she was stirring. She was peppering his skin with soft kisses. She was nuzzling him awake, and it was delicious.

It was something he had rarely experienced before—and never had he experienced it when it felt so pleasant and so wanted. He stretched his back again, the stretch lengthening through his arms and legs, and he shivered at the full recognition of Carol’s attentions to his body. Something else lengthened in response, surging harder than it already was for its natural response to the morning.

Carol laughed quietly. It was music to Daryl’s ears.

“Good morning,” she said.

Daryl smiled at her. His heart pounded. Those two words shouldn’t be so equally wonderful and terrifying.

“Good mornin’,” he offered, his voice thick with sleep. She’d been awake for a while now. That much was obvious.

“I didn’t want to take advantage or be—presumptuous,” Carol said. 

“What do you mean?” Daryl asked. 

She crawled toward him, kissing his lips. She hovered over him and held her hand up. Pinched casually between her index and middle fingers was the familiar foil package of the extra condom that Daryl had flicked onto the nightstand. He smiled to himself, involuntarily really, when he recognized it. He heard her laugh low in her throat.

“You always do it, don’t you?” 

“Do what?” Daryl asked, wanting nothing more than to tread as delicately as was humanly possible. The last thing he wanted was to do anything that might disrupt the delicate balance of what was taking place. 

“Plan ahead. The next time,” Carol said. “Always setting up the next date. The next coffee.” She waved the condom. “The next…time.”

Daryl’s stomach responded to her words. He touched her face, then, almost feeling like she might just disappear if he touched her again. He might wake up and find out that this wasn’t real. She leaned into his hand as though it wasn’t enough affection, and his heart thumped harder in response. He licked his lips. His mouth was dry, and there was only so much of it that he could blame on morning.

“I’m gonna ask for the next time until you tell me there ain’t no next time,” Daryl said.

Carol’s expression went serious. Maybe she even looked a little sad for a moment. She sat up and offered him the foil package.

“If you want,” she said.

Daryl took it and nodded. Her expression lightened again. While he rolled the condom on, Carol fumbled around in her nightstand. She came up with a tube, and Daryl watched her as she squeezed a large glob into her palm. 

“Lube?” Daryl asked.

Carol’s face ran red.

“As—my friends would say, my flower is bitching,” Carol offered. 

“What?” Daryl asked with a laugh. Carol laughed to herself.

“My pussy hurts, Daryl,” she said frankly, her humor coming through in her tone and on her face. Daryl couldn’t help but drop back to the pillow when she wrapped her hand around him and stroked him generously. She picked his hand up and placed it on her breast. He understood what she wanted. Her nipples were already hard in anticipation of his touch. She’d been confident that he would want this. She seemed to have been fully prepared for him to wake so this could begin. He licked his fingers and toyed with her nipples while she stroked him. He kissed her when she came requesting kisses. When she straddled him and began to ease herself onto him, he caught her.

“If you don’t feel good,” Daryl said, “if it don’t feel good, then I don’t want’cha to do it.” 

She smiled at him.

“It feels good.”

“You said you was hurtin’,” Daryl said.

“It hurts and it feels good,” Carol said. “And I can’t explain it anymore than that. I just needed a little help to make things extra good, OK?” 

To demonstrate her thoughts on the matter, apparently, Carol slid all the way down him and seated herself on him.

“Sweet—fuckin’ shit!” Daryl spat, not expecting the wave of sensation that rolled through his body—the pure satisfaction that he felt at her wrapping around him, already squeezing him, with the promise of what he knew would be incredible.

Carol responded with a breathy laugh.

“I’m going to be bad at this,” she said. “I’ve never done it. I don’t know what I’m doing.” 

“What the hell you’re doin’ right there is damn near good enough,” Daryl managed to get out. She moved, clearly knowing what she wanted to do but either feeling unable to do it or unsure about her ability. Daryl recognized her struggle, insecurity and, above everything else, her bravery at attempting to do this with him when she was unsure about it.

He dropped his hands to her hips, offering her support, and he did his best to guide her. He moved his own hips, helping her find a rhythm that seemed good to both of them. 

It didn’t take long before he realized that his erection was lasting, honestly, longer than he could ever recall one lasting in his entire life. It was mostly because he was stimulated, and he found the experience pleasurable and exhilarating, but he was only partially focused on his own experience. More important, at the moment, was Carol’s experience. Even more so than that, Daryl felt that building her confidence was the most important thing.

When she dropped her hand between them, helping herself to get what she needed, and Daryl felt her muscles begin to tighten, he focused on his own movements and on helping her the rest of the way—helping both of them the rest of the way, since the pulsing of her muscles made it hard for him to think at all, and he knew she’d pull him over the edge with her as she came.

Daryl fought against closing his eyes until he couldn’t stand it anymore. He wanted to see that look on her face. He wanted to see her when she saw that she could do what she doubted she could. He wanted her to see him come, and he let himself go, not trying to hold any of his pleasure back at all—not caring if he embarrassed himself by enjoying this more than, maybe, he should.

When it was done, he lauded the sex as the best he’d ever had. The best he’d ever imagined. He nibbled her skin, finally giving into the strange desire to feel his teeth sinking into her, careful not to truly hurt her. He burrowed as close to her as their bodies would allow, and he drank up the last few desperate moments of magnetic connection that seemed to linger between their bodies following sex.

He let her go and get cleaned up first, and then he took his turn in her bathroom.

Daryl rid himself of the used and knotted condom. He washed his hands, used some water to smooth down his hair, and borrowed some of Carol’s toothpaste and mouthwash. His finger wasn’t the greatest substitution for a toothbrush, but it would do for the time being. She hadn’t complained, though, about his morning breath so far.

Daryl put on his underwear and pants. He left his shirt off. He was acutely aware, as he left it where it lay, of the choice he was making. Daryl sometimes went without his shirt around Merle. What reason did he have to hide his scars from a brother who wore the same kinds of scars on his body, arguably in larger number than Daryl? Daryl was not a man, though, that went without his shirt elsewhere. Even in previous relationships—or the quick burning, and even quicker ending, flings that he’d tried to fashion into relationships—he’d very often argued for the right to keep his shirt, and he’d left, on more than one occasion, when someone tried to suggest he couldn’t.

But he left the shirt off because Carol had seen the scars, and she hadn’t shuddered. She hadn’t shied away from them any more than he’d shied away from the obvious scars that decorated her body, here and there, like reminders of shrapnel picked up on the battlefield of a bloody marriage.

Daryl padded on bare feet into the kitchen. 

Carol had lit the candle from the night before. She was wearing a peach colored nightgown that appeared to be little more than a long shirt. It hung loosely and landed somewhere around her mid-thigh. It was anyone’s guess whether she’d bothered with more than that. Her hair stuck out in numerous directions, and she turned quickly when she heard Daryl coming into the kitchen.

She smiled at him and he couldn’t help but smile in return.

“You OK?” Daryl asked. “You ain’t—hurt or…?” 

“I’m fine,” Carol assured him. “You OK?” 

“Never been better in my fuckin’ life,” Daryl said. “I’ma—step out on your porch. Smoke a cigarette. Don’t want you to wonder where the hell I’m goin’.” 

“If you went out there, you wouldn’t be going anywhere. You’d just be wandering around the backyard,” Carol said with a laugh. “I locked the gate last night, remember? Unless—you want to jump the fence.” 

Daryl’s stomach tightened. The statement and the question could be taken on more than one level. Daryl only wished he could be sure that she meant it on a figurative level and not a literal one. 

Did she mean that she had no intention of running away from this—away from him? 

Was it too early to even consider that she might be making that decision?

Daryl forced a quiet laugh.

“I won’t jump the fence,” he said, hoping she’d hear it however it was that she needed to hear it—however it was that wouldn’t make her nervous and more skittish than he already knew she was.

“Coffee? I’ll come with you.” 

Daryl nodded his head. 

“Just black today,” Daryl said. Carol nodded her understanding, poured two cups of coffee from the pot, and handed a mug to Daryl. He waved her to lead the way, and he followed her out to the back porch. The fence provided privacy from the neighbors, and they both settled down in the same chairs that they’d used the night before. Daryl sipped his coffee before he lit his cigarette. “You always make good coffee.”

“Can I have one of those?” Carol asked. 

Daryl offered her a cigarette and lit it for her.

“You can have anything you want,” Daryl said. Immediately his face ran warm and he wondered if he should have said that—if he should have felt it, even.

“So—what’s next?” Carol asked after a moment of silence had passed between them.

“What’cha mean?” Daryl asked.

“You always seem to have something that’s next,” Carol said. “Something on the back burner. So—what’s next?” 

Daryl considered it.

“Why don’t you tell me?” He asked.

Carol made a noise.

“I don’t like to choose,” she protested.

Daryl swallowed back his amusement.

“I’d say you did some choosin’ this morning,” he offered. “And—I don’t recall protestin’ or hatin’ your choices.” 

“I didn’t choose, did I?” Carol asked.

“I think you did,” Daryl said. “I was asleep an’ you’d already made up your mind. Chose last night, too, and I didn’t disapprove then, neither.” 

“You brought the condoms,” Carol said. 

“Woulda took ‘em back home, too.” 

Daryl glanced at her. She almost looked ill. Suddenly he was sorry for suggesting that she’d made any kind of choice at all—or that he’d been letting her be the proverbial driver for longer than she’d realized.

“Maybe I—kinda hoped,” Daryl said. “Maybe—I sorta suggested it. Didn’t necessarily choose, but…had already let myself get my hopes up.”

Carol relaxed a little. 

“You wanted to,” Carol said.

“I absolutely wanted to,” Daryl said. She relaxed even a bit more into her chair. She sipped her coffee and rocked her chair with her foot. Daryl could tell there was something there. He didn’t need some kind of sixth sense to know it was Ed. More than likely, he’d made her believe that she couldn’t or shouldn’t make decisions—that whatever she decided was bad.

Daryl wasn’t going to ask, though, and he wasn’t going to press the subject—not this morning. This morning, all he wanted was for her to relax. To enjoy her coffee. To not feel stressed or skittish. To not feel like running away.

He relaxed as he saw her visibly relaxing. Finally, she smiled to herself.

“Mr. Plans-Ahead,” she said, a sing-songy quality entering her voice, “your planning skills fell short, you know?” 

“Did they?” Daryl asked.

Carol smiled at him and raised her eyebrows. 

“You only brought two condoms,” she said. “So—either you didn’t plan too far ahead or…”

Daryl’s stomach tightened. His brain raced. 

“That ain’t no problem,” he said. “I mean—if it is a problem? I can run to the store. Be back ‘fore you can scramble some eggs. You got my word on that.” 

Carol smiled to herself and tasted her coffee. The smiled didn’t fade as she swallowed down the warm liquid. 

“Is that your way of saying—you want breakfast?” She asked.

Daryl smiled to himself.

“Always one more thing,” he offered. “As long as you let me.” 

His stomach gnawed on itself and he pretended it was hunger. He knew, though, that it was only the uncertainty that surged up every time he waited to see if this would be the one time that she drew a hard line in the sand. Would breakfast be the thing that made her simply say enough was enough and the game was over?

She sucked in a breath, held it for a moment, and let it out. The smile was still on her lips—softer this time than the smirk she’d been wearing before.

“I’ve got some eggs,” she said. “I think—bacon…and I could make some biscuits.”

Daryl’s heart leaped. He didn’t know what came after breakfast, but he’d have breakfast to think about it.

He lit himself another cigarette and put the pack where she could reach it without feeling she had to request one if she desired another with her coffee.

“The hell do you know?” He mused. “That’s just about my favorite breakfast.”


	28. Chapter 28

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“See—I asked for bacon, but I really think I want sausage,” Andrea said. “My period is like—right around the corner. I feel like a crazy carnivore, you know? Like I just—want to eat a plate of meat. I should’ve asked for sausage. You know what—never mind…I want both. Where’s Jacqui?” 

“She’s right here,” Jacqui said with a laugh. “And I heard you. Even more than I wanted to hear. Patty or link? We actually have both on hand today.” 

“You know what, one of each,” Andrea said. “If it’s not too much trouble.” 

“Not for you, sweetie,” Jacqui responded. With a hand on Andrea’s shoulder, she leaned down and kissed the woman’s cheek affectionately after she put down the plate that she’d brought for Michonne.

“Are you sure you don’t need a hand?” Carol asked, giving Jacqui a guilty look. Jacqui patted her shoulder affectionately in response.

“We won’t have anyone else in for half an hour,” Jacqui said. “And I’ve already straightened, cleaned, refilled, and prepped everything I can. You know I can’t just sit around, Carol. Whipping up an order of sausage just might help me keep my sanity.” 

“I want whatever coffee she’s having,” Michonne said. “I need that kind of enthusiasm in my life.”

“Jacqui just runs on that natural joie de vivre,” Andrea said.

Jacqui smiled broadly at that assessment of her energy level and rushed back to the kitchen to get the sausage that Andrea ordered. Carol bit her breakfast sandwich—one of the bagel sandwich varieties that they were trying out for the next week or two to see how they were received—and sat back in her chair.

“You know what, Andrea Michelle Harrison,” Alice said, putting her phone down and finally beginning to eat the breakfast food that was probably cold by now. “I kind of hate you. Just a little bit. For at least the next few minutes.” 

“Strong words,” Michonne offered.

“What the hell did I do?” Andrea asked, filling her mouth with scrambled eggs.

“You changed the subject to breakfast meats,” Alice said.

“What subject?” Andrea asked. “I didn’t even know there was a subject, Alice.” 

“I told you I met someone,” Alice said. “I told you I was thinking about sending her flowers, but I haven’t decided if I should send them to her home or work.” 

“Well, Alice Jane,” Andrea said, “you didn’t make it clear that you were soliciting advice. I thought that was the end of the story until further notice.” 

“Home,” Michonne offered. “Getting flowers at work is—if she’s not ready to talk about this with her coworkers? You’re forcing her into an uncomfortable position.”

“Home,” Carol echoed.

“See? It doesn’t matter what I think, Al. The consensus is home,” Andrea said.

“My point is that—I come out and say I’ve met this incredible woman and you just move on to the next topic. No—gee, that’s great, Al, tell us more about her. Not a damn thing.”

“Gee, that’s great, Al,” Andrea said. “Tell us more about her.” Everyone laughed at Alice’s expression and, in spite of herself, Alice laughed at their reaction. “I’m sorry. I guess—we just reserve our excitement given your…record.”

“My record?” Alice asked.

“This isn’t Andrea’s fault,” Michonne said. “Your record, Al. And you know you have a record. You meet someone amazing, you’re totally in love, and then two days later that’s over and we’ve never even met her.”

“Exactly,” Andrea said. “Between the practical parade of Jamies—wasn’t it Jamie there was a run on last year?” 

“It was Jamie,” Michonne confirmed. “But there were a couple of Ashleys, too.” 

“OK—so it doesn’t usually last long,” Alice said. “But—this one’s different. First of all, she’s brand new to the area. Do you know what a new-to-the-area lesbian is like in Living Springs? That’s like—I found Nessie.” 

“Is her name Nessie?” Andrea asked.

“Sadie,” Alice said. “Her name is Sadie. She’s just moved here to take a job at the university. You know that professor that died like two weeks ago? The old man?”

“The guy that always looked like Abraham Lincoln?” Andrea asked. Alice nodded.

“Sadie’s filling in for his classes until next semester when she’ll start her own. I met her at Beat on Friday.”

“That’s the gay bar near Birchwood?” Michonne asked.

“Yes, Michonne,” Alice said. “That’s the only gay bar in the area and, I don’t know if you knew this, but that’s the safest place to meet other gay people, you know?”

“Well, I think it’s excellent,” Andrea said after she’d thanked Jacqui for the delivery of sausage to the table. “And I, for one, want to meet this lesbian unicorn.” 

“With that attitude?” Alice asked.

“What attitude?” Andrea asked with a laugh. “Al—the only reason we never meet any of your interests is because you never invite us to meet them. You never bring them coffee. You never invite us over. You don’t invite us to meet your interests and then you get pissed because we don’t meet them.”

“And that’s when they’re gone in like forty-eight hours,” Michonne said. “Honestly—if you’re serious about this woman, we’re all excited. But we want to meet her!”

“Bring her to coffee, Alice,” Carol said. “Before work. Breakfast. On the house. My treat.” 

Alice looked a little nervous at the prospect, but she also looked satisfied that she wasn’t being ignored. She picked up her phone again, settled back in her chair with her coffee, and sipped the beverage.

“I might,” she said. 

“Good,” Michonne said. “Now—while we’re on the subject of people we’ve never met…Andrea, I saw Shane Walsh in town yesterday, and he wasn’t just being passingly friend with Miranda Igel. So—I don’t know if I’m obligated to tell you that or…what’s going on with your stranger?”

Andrea smiled to herself. 

“Well, I haven’t answered Shane’s calls in—days,” Andrea said. “And since we weren’t really monogamous to begin with, and since I’m certainly not being monogamous to him, all I can say is Godspeed to him and God bless to her.” 

“So that’s over, over?” Alice asked.

Andrea raised her eyebrows and shrugged, but the pink on her cheeks and the smile on her face said she certainly hoped it was over.

“I have something to bring to the table,” Andrea mused. “Carol Ann—do you have anything you’d like to discuss?” 

Carol smiled a tight-lipped smile and focused on her sandwich. 

“What do you mean?” She asked, not very convincingly. 

“I have something to admit,” Andrea said, addressing everyone as she half looked at Carol. “I told him that I would be the one to say something. In fact, I asked him to let me be the one to say something. I swore him to secrecy with everything but a blood oath, but…I’ve met your…Daryl.”

“I know you met him,” Carol said with a laugh. “Here. When you were spying on me.”

“I prefer to think of it as being protective. And, no,” Andrea said, shaking her head. “No—that’s not what I’m talking about. I bumped into him again.” 

“Getting groceries? God—I hate buying food. I see everyone there. And it’s impossible to act like you don’t see anyone or hear them calling you for the whole time you’re there. And you want to know what’s a real pisser? Being someone’s doctor and they just stop you right there in the cereal aisle and want you to diagnose something—for free—right beside the Sugar Smacks.” 

“Alice?” Michonne said, interrupting.

“Hmmm?” Alice asked, looking up from her phone.

Rather than say anything, Michonne simply signaled, with her eyes, in the direction of Andrea and Carol. 

“Where’d you run into him?” Carol asked.

“His house, actually,” Andrea said.

“His house?” Carol asked.

“Turns out—your Daryl is the bouncing baby brother of the man I’m seeing,” Andrea said.

“You’re dating Merle?” Carol asked.

“I’m not sure if dating is the right word just yet,” Andrea offered. “I mean—we haven’t left his house together since the night we met at Salty’s. But I’m absolutely fucking Merle.” 

Michonne laughed across the table.

“Merle Dixon? You’re dating Merle Dixon?” 

“Again—saying we’re dating might be being a bit generous at this point.”

“You know him?” Carol asked.

“Both brothers work for Ty,” Michonne said. She shrugged her shoulders. “Ty told me a little bit about him when I told him you were seeing Daryl. Merle’s—a character. Andrea—I don’t want to piss on your parade, but from what Ty has said, I’m not sure you want to get tangled up with Merle Dixon.”

Andrea laughed to herself.

“Why not, Mich?” She asked. 

“He’s a bit of a womanizer,” Michonne said.

“We met at Salty’s,” Andrea said. “He picked me up and took me home with him. And—he hasn’t been really sneaky about anything. I mean…he told me he doesn’t do second times, and he certainly doesn’t do third times.” 

“So—what are you going to do?” Michonne asked.

“I’m going to see where the ride goes,” Andrea said. “I’ve wasted my whole fucking life—at least, the better part of my forty-five years. What’s it to me if I waste a little more time? And I like Merle. Better than I liked Shane. And Shane’s the best prospect I’ve had. So—I’m going to see where the hell it goes.” 

“Alright,” Michonne said, some disapproval coming through in her tone. 

“Point noted,” Andrea said. “I’ll cry on my own shoulder if I need it.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” Michonne said. “And you know it, so you can go ahead and unknot your panties.” 

“Merle’s a womanizer,” Carol said. “Doesn’t do commitment. But Daryl’s…”

“Could be the same,” Michonne said.

“He’s not…he’s not!” Andrea said. “Listen—this is why I didn’t want him to say anything. Not right away. I wanted to feel him out a little. Get to know Merle. Draw my own conclusions before you started making that face, Carol. I’m not even sure that Merle is what he says he is…but I can already tell you that Daryl’s not that type.” 

“Merle’s not what he says he is,” Carol mused. “So—it’s a show?”

“Not like that. Not—I don’t think it’s like that at all. He’s nervous,” Andrea said. “A lot like a—caged animal. The whole idea of I’ll bite you if you come any closer because I want you to leave me alone. But…I don’t think he really wants to be left alone.” 

“They are brothers,” Michonne offered. “You’d think that one would be like the other.”

“Evidently you’ve never met my sister, Dot,” Alice said. 

“I haven’t,” Michonne said. “Nobody has. For all we’ve seen, you were hatched, Alice.” 

Alice snorted.

“And there’s good reason for that,” Alice said. “My parents are…woo…but as for Dot? We’re—I mean, wow. We’re just wildly fucking different, OK? Like—Dot told me I was adopted, and I believed her. In fact, I hoped it was true. I hoped the circus would swoop my ass up and take me away with them. I’m telling you, we’re entirely different.”

“Different how, Al?” Carol asked.

“Fundamentally fucking different,” Alice said. “I’m gay, she’s straight. She’s—practically out of the nineteen fifties. And not in a good way. Not in a cute aesthetic way. Not even the way that—like you are with your kind of obsession over the whole decades gone by thing. Everything Dot and I believe is just different. It’s impossible to believe that we were raised by the same people. Honestly. There’s a reason why we only interact with one another at family gatherings and, even then, we’re just kind of like ‘how are you’ and that’ll do ‘til next year.” 

“Yet it’s not unreasonable to assume that you and Dot have some things in common,” Michonne said. “Some—common characteristics that you share because of your childhood.”

“Look at Amy and I,” Andrea offered. “We’re nothing…nothing…alike.”

“That’s different,” Michonne said.

“How?” Andrea asked.

“First off because you’re not full siblings,” Michonne said. “Secondly—Amy is a lot younger than you.”

“And Daryl is a lot younger than Merle,” Andrea said. “I’m telling you—I’m the only one at this table that has met both of them. They may have some things in common, but they’re very different, too.” 

“Daryl says they’re very different,” Carol said.

“And that’s why I didn’t want to say anything until I’d kind of met both of them,” Andrea said. “You forget—I’m your oldest friend here. I know you, Carol. Better than anyone. And I can see it on your face. Don’t go thinking that there’s anything wrong with Daryl just because Merle’s a little rough around the edges.” 

“What’s the deal with this Daryl, guy?” Alice asked. “Do you like him?” 

Carol picked at her sandwich. 

“Yeah,” she said. “I do. I do like him.” 

“You spent part of the weekend with him,” Andrea said. “And I only know that because I spent that part of the weekend with Merle.” 

Carol’s face ran red. 

“I did,” she said. 

“So—tell us about him,” Andrea pressed. “What do you think about him?” 

“I don’t know,” Carol said. “I mean—I like him. But…he’s…wonderful. He’s…funny. And handsome. And thoughtful…”

“Fuck—those are some strong words of praise, Carol, for you to be delivering them in a eulogy voice,” Alice offered.

“I guess he just seems a little too good to be true,” Carol said. “He seems—way too good to be true, actually.” 

“Is that like an instinct thing?” Michonne asked. “Because you’ve got to trust your instinct.” She jumped. “Andrea—I swear…if you kick me one more time in the fucking shin…”

Andrea smiled at Carol.

“There’s a difference in instinct and paranoia, and that’s all I’m going to say about that,” Andrea offered. “Give him a chance. Didn’t you give him a chance this weekend.”

Carol’s face ran pink. 

“I did,” she said.

“And?” Andrea asked.

“I—we had a good time. I had a good time. And then, Saturday, I told him I needed to…do something on Sunday.” 

“What’d you need to do?” 

“Let my poor flower heal,” Carol said.

“OK—see? I’m back in this conversation,” Alice said, putting her phone down. “Why the hell don’t we lead with the good stuff?” 

“It’s not that exciting,” Carol said. “It’s just—I wasn’t used to it and then we…a couple of times…and…I just needed to give her a cool down period. A breather.” 

Andrea snorted and helped herself to some of the coffee from the cooled pot in the middle of the table. 

“Well, what do you know, Mich? I think I just figured out one of the things the brothers might have in common.” She jumped, scoffing, and it was clear that Michonne had paid her back, under the table, for some previous kicks. 

“I just needed a break,” Carol said.

“Why didn’t you just say that?” Andrea asked.

“You know how men are,” Carol said. “It would’ve been—a whole thing. Either he would have insisted…maybe worse. Or—he’d’ve been pissed off for the rest of the time anyway.” 

“He didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to, did he?” Alice asked.

Carol adopted a bit of a deer in headlights expression and shook her head. 

“Simmer down, Al,” Andrea offered. “Carol—sweetheart—did Daryl make you feel like you couldn’t say let’s just hang out for a while and spend some time together without…that…or did Ed make you feel like you couldn’t say that?” 

“It’s just how men are…” Carol said.

“No, Carol,” Michonne said. “That’s not how men are. Not real men. I mean—OK, I’m not going to lie. Ty might get a little grumpy about it, but that’s only after I’ve turned him down for a good, long time. And even then, it’s just being disappointed.”

“Not being Ed,” Andrea finished for her. “You know—I’ve gotten to talk to him a little bit, Carol. And you know that I’d never let you be around someone that I thought was bad for you. I mean, honestly? If you were dating Merle I might be like…that’s a bad idea. But I’ve talked to Daryl a little bit. There’s no reason to believe that Daryl would act like Ed. Next time, why don’t you just—tell him? Give him a chance to show you how Daryl acts, and not how Ed acts.” 

Carol gave Andrea a somewhat nervous smile and nodded her head.

“Maybe…I’ll talk to him about it,” she said. “We’re having dinner and—maybe a movie tonight. It doesn’t matter right now, though.” She stood up and began collecting some of the dirty plates from the table to announce her intention to excuse herself to start her workday. “Right now—I’ve got to go help Jacqui. The morning rush will start any time.”


	29. Chapter 29

AN: Here’s another chapter! I hope you enjoy! 

Let me know what you think! 

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Carol had texted Daryl before leaving work, asking what he wanted for dinner, and had held back the desire to say that she was simply exhausted and, honestly, didn’t feel like cooking anything. She’d been relieved when he’d suggested, without the need for her to say that she’d be content to skip dinner to survive on popcorn alone, that he’d decided that a movie night wasn’t complete without pizza, so he was picking up dinner.

As luck would have it, when he’d asked Carol what type of pizza she preferred, his preferences had mirrored her own. She hadn’t been fooled, and she knew that he was likely just getting what she wanted, but she appreciated the gesture.

On the way home from work, she stopped by the store long enough to pick up some snacks that she thought might go well with a movie—a few kinds of assorted candy, some popcorn for popping on the stove, and soft drinks, which was something she rarely indulged in these days.

At the house, she showered and dressed casually. Daryl was supposed to be coming by after his own shower, declaring that he had to wash the day off before he felt like he could come over. Ahead of them was dinner, a movie, and a relaxing evening—that was the theme.

Carol’s stomach was churning, though, with the thought that there were things they needed to talk about—things that Andrea had pressed her to put on the table with Daryl. She needed to come clean. She needed to be honest with Daryl. 

When Daryl had arrived, pizza in hand and a few shopping bags looped over his wrist, he’d come with a smile on his face. He’d come bringing the smell of soap, shampoo, and food indulgence.

As soon as he’d put the pizza and his other spoils down, he’d approached Carol with open arms to request—something. He wanted a kiss or a hug, it was clear, but he was leaving it up to her to decide which. Seeing that, Carol’s stomach had only complained more about its feelings.

Carol had kissed Daryl, and she’d offered him the best hug she could, but she’d admittedly felt a little stiff about things. Daryl had clearly noticed, too.

“What’s wrong?” Daryl asked. “You OK?”

“I’m fine,” Carol said. She put on the best smile she could, but it didn’t feel sincere to her and it clearly didn’t fool Daryl. He looked at her with a deeply furrowed brow.

She redirected his attention to the bags that he’d brought. 

“What’d you bring?” She asked.

He didn’t erase the furrow from between his brows, but he humored her by moving to the bags and beginning to unpack their contents.

“Got—this is mine, from home…” He put a composition book on the counter.

“A notebook?” Carol asked. Daryl hummed. “Do you write—poetry or something?” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“The or somethin’,” he offered. “I don’t think I’d be much of a poet. No—these are notes.”

“Notes about…” Carol pressed.

Daryl seemed to have forgotten his concern over her mood for a moment and, honestly, Carol could feel some of the knots in her gut untangling themselves a little. Daryl opened the cover of his notebook and pushed it toward her. He flipped a couple of the pages. They were filled with scrawling handwriting written in ball point pen. Daryl’s notebook certainly wasn’t neat, but it appeared to be somewhat thorough.

“What is this?” Carol asked, smiling at the scrawl—and smiling mostly because Daryl was smiling.

“If you’re gonna read a book…I don’t know…seems like you oughta take notes,” Daryl said. 

“These are notes to…”

“Your books,” Daryl said. He reached back in the one bag where he’d had the notebook, and he pulled out two of the books. “These are the only two I finished so far, but I figured we might wanna talk about some of it.” 

“You took notes?” Carol asked. The question, she recognized, was more a musing than a genuine question. Of course, he’d taken notes. They were right in front of her eyes. She could see, now that she knew what she was looking at, roughly how he’d gone about organizing them. He hummed at her in the affirmative. “About—what?” 

“Shit I liked,” Daryl said. “Mostly. The parts I thought were the best. A couple—you can see I got a couple questions. Some of ‘em I answered myself, but it was the stuff I didn’t really understand at first. Like—here—like I didn’t understand, in the Scottish one? I didn’t understand if he was even real, you know? Because a couple things they said made it sound like he weren’t real.” 

“Like he was a ghost,” Carol offered. Daryl smiled at her and nodded. “But he wasn’t.”

“No. It was her imagination runnin’ away with her,” Daryl said. “And all the legends they were tellin’ her. He was kinda feedin’ into it, though, I thought. I didn’t like that part.”

“I thought it was kind of romantic,” Carol said. “It was the whole mystery thing.”

“I get that,” Daryl ceded. “But—the parts where he was kind feedin’ into it felt like lyin’ to me. So, I didn’t like that part. He knew she was kinda—not knowin’ which way was up, and he wasn’t clearin’ things up. I just—didn’t like that part.”

Carol recognized a familiar sensation that had come to her throughout the past days as she looked at Daryl. Her cheeks ached. Daryl smiled at her, warmly, in response.

“Because you’re honest,” Carol said. “And—you value honesty.” 

Daryl hummed in the affirmative and nodded. Carol’s stomach, which had almost calmed entirely, felt like it practically knotted. She almost felt a little light headed. She knew she had to be honest with Daryl. She owed that much to him. After all, he had made it clear that he valued honesty and he tried his best to live his life by that value.

She promised herself she’d work up to it. 

“What else do you have?”

“Oh—well—I just wanted to bring back the books that I finished. Brought my notebook. Stopped to pick a couple things up.” He opened the other bag of items that he’d clearly picked up at the store. “Paper plates so there ain’t no need for doin’ dishes tonight. Napkins, too. And…” Daryl pulled out a box of condoms and put it on the counter. “I know it’s a big box, but hear me out. Look at it. It’s got like four different kinds in here to try. I thought—I could leave it here. If you don’t like that, though, I can take it home. Up to you.” 

Carol reached and took the box. She read it over. She couldn’t help somewhat laughing to herself. The box held twenty condoms, it advertised, of four different varieties. The back of the box boasted that all varieties were enhanced, in some way, for “her” pleasure.

Carol put the box on the counter.

“I can take it home,” Daryl offered. 

It took Carol a moment to even be able to gather the ability to look at him.

“No,” she said. “It’s not—that.” 

“But it’s somethin’,” Daryl said. Carol nodded her head. Suddenly, her stomach reacted more violently than it had before. Everything inside her caught with the expression on his face—the look in his eyes. “Go ahead. Might as well say it. Whatever you got to say.” 

“It might—ruin the evening,” Carol said. 

Daryl laughed to himself. The laughter wasn’t sincere.

“Gonna ruin the fuckin’ evenin’ havin’ this shit hangin’ between us like this,” Daryl said. “I don’t like it. Feels like—an elephant’s sittin’ on my damn chest. So, whatever you got to say? I’d rather you just said it, if it’s all the same to you.” 

“I don’t know where to start,” Carol said.

Daryl held his hand up, stopping her. She raised her eyebrows in question. That was all he needed.

“Just yes or no—are you about to…break up with me? Or—if you don’t wanna say we’re dating, because I know we haven’t put no kinda name on it…and we don’t gotta do that right now or, ever, if you don’t wanna do that…”

“I’m not breaking up with you,” Carol said quickly. His anxiety was palpable, and she didn’t want to leave him falling further and further down the proverbial rabbit hole. He visibly relaxed. His shoulders slid back a half an inch. He let out a breath.

“Oh—OK,” he said. “Then—let’s talk about it.”

Carol swallowed against the lump in her throat. Just like that, he seemed satisfied. He was here for pizza—pizza that they would likely eat cold if they ate it at all—and a movie. But he was just as equally here for a difficult conversation, if that’s what the night held. In his demeanor, Carol saw that he didn’t really mind either way. 

Part of her brain asked her what she’d ever worried about. It asked her why she was worried, somewhere in her mind, even now. The other part of her brain knew the response, though, and reminded her that burying her thoughts under this moment of comfort would only make them come back later when she wasn’t feeling so comfortable and reassured.

“You want a beer?” She asked. “A cigarette?” 

“Do you?” Daryl asked.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I—kinda do.” 

“Then I’ma join you,” Daryl said. He let her get the beers for both of them, though, and walked with her to the back porch where the chairs still sat right where they’d been. He put the pack of cigarettes and lighter between them, and Carol quickly lit one. “Must be one helluva conversation.” 

“I have to admit, Daryl—I feel kind of silly telling this to you now, but…I know that if I don’t say it, it doesn’t mean that it’ll go away. And—I haven’t been completely honest with you. And I want to be completely honest with you. So, I feel like—I have to say it.” 

“Then you better say it,” Daryl said. “But you’re makin’ me nervous. Did I do somethin’ wrong?” 

“No,” Carol said. “But I think—someone else did something wrong, and I assumed that you would do the same because they taught me that—that’s how they would act. Maybe, they taught me that’s how everyone would act.” 

“Ed?” 

Carol hummed in the affirmative.

“Say it, Carol. Start wherever. Don’t matter where you start.” 

Carol accepted his need for her not to drag things out. 

“When I asked you to go home on Saturday, it wasn’t because I had anything pressing to do on Sunday,” Carol asked.

Daryl nodded his head. He wasn’t looking at her for a moment. He lit the citronella candle, and focused a great deal on the woodgrain of the porch. 

“You—just wanted some time to think or…read…or…?” 

“I was afraid.” 

“Of what?”

“It feels stupid now,” Carol said. “I feel—embarrassed. Now—it doesn’t make sense.” 

Daryl hummed to himself.

“I guess we all been afraid of stupid shit,” Daryl said. “Shit that turned out to be stupid. Go on.” 

“My flower—my pussy—was sore,” Carol said.

“Does it—feel better now?” Daryl asked.

Carol laughed to herself. 

“Yes,” she said. “It does.”

“Good,” Daryl said. 

“I—didn’t really want to have sex after Saturday morning,” Carol said. 

“Because it was hurtin’,” Daryl offered. Carol hummed. “But we didn’t.”

“I know,” Carol said. “But that’s when I told you that I had something to do on Sunday.” She sighed. “I didn’t really want you to go home. I mean—I told you to go home because it was better for you to go home, so I thought, but I was enjoying your company.” 

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ lie, you got me just about turned around,” Daryl offered. “If you didn’t want me to leave, then why’d you tell me to leave?”

“Because—I didn’t feel like having sex again,” Carol said. 

“Why the hell didn’t you just say—I like you bein’ here, but my pussy hurts an’ I don’t wanna have sex right now?” 

Carol covered her mouth. Her eyes prickled at the words. Her chest tightened. Everything inside of her ached. She needed a moment to get control of herself. Daryl allowed her that, but he didn’t allow it uninterrupted. His hand came over and squeezed the top of her arm. 

“You OK? Shit—you cryin’? Over—Carol, what the hell’s goin’ on? For the love of everything, just tell me the damn truth an’ spit it out…” 

“I didn’t think I could say that,” Carol said. “I didn’t think that—you could stay, and I could say that. I thought—no…I imagined…you would be upset. Angry.”

“I told you a hundred times we didn’t have to fuck if you didn’t wanna fuck,” Daryl said. “Hell—we still don’t. And if you want me to take them condoms back, I’ll take ‘em back. Hell—I’ll…give ‘em to Merle. Get rid of ‘em. You can put the whole thing outta your mind if that’s what the hell you need right now.” 

“I know you said that…” Carol said. “I know you did…”

“But what? You don’t believe me?” 

Carol took a moment to stop choking on her feelings. She could barely stand to look at him. He looked pained. Betrayed, even. Her chest ached, and it only ached more when she saw his expression.

“I know, now, that my feelings were…wrong,” Carol said. 

“I don’t understand what I did to make you think you couldn’t tell me that you ain’t wanted to have sex with me,” Daryl said.

“It wasn’t even that I didn’t want to have sex with you,” Carol said. “Or that I don’t. Or that I want you to take the condoms back. It was just…then. That day.” 

“Because you didn’t feel good,” Daryl said. Carol mopped at her eyes and nodded her head. “You think—I’m not big enough to handle that? I don’t want to hurt you. And if I did hurt you, then I’m sorry for that.” 

“No,” Carol said. “I mean—I was sore, but…you didn’t hurt me. Not—not like you hurt me, hurt me. I haven’t…been with many men, and I haven’t had sex in a long time. It was bound to be uncomfortable. Maybe it still is for a couple of times. I mean—I have to get used to it. You know. Like—if you do something physical that you haven’t done in a while and your muscles are sore.”

Daryl was staring at her.

“I guess I still don’t understand why you thought you couldn’t tell me that,” Daryl said. 

“Because Ed didn’t like to hear the word no,” Carol said. “And—if I told him that I didn’t want to? He would be pissed off about it. It made everything a thousand times worse. It made the atmosphere in our home unbearable. It made him pissed off at every little thing—and I knew how that was going to end. And if he didn’t want to hear no bad enough? He took what he wanted anyway.”

Daryl was staring at her, brows tightly knit, gnawing at his cuticle. He had turned almost entirely sideways in his chair. Carol could barely stand to hold his eyes, but she didn’t want to look away, either.

“Shit,” he said, finally. “I’m sorry, Carol. For that—for him. And—if I knew him…but did you think that’s what the hell I was gonna do? Because—if you did? Then you must think I’m a first-class asshole.”

“No,” Carol breathed out. “No—I don’t think I really would’ve thought that about you. I don’t think I did.” 

“But the fear is still there?” Daryl asked. Carol half shrugged and nodded.

“I knew that—with Ed? Most of the time I just gave him what he wanted. Whether I wanted it or not. It just made things…easier. Just—take it, and it’ll be over soon and everything else can be avoided or…at the very least…minimized. On Saturday—when I was thinking that I wasn’t really…you know…feeling like doing it again? I thought about the fact that, if that’s what you wanted, I could just…let it happen.”

“That’s the last damn thing I’d want you to do,” Daryl said. “Just in case you’re wonderin’ about my feelings on it. I don’t wanna fuck you when you don’t want me to. I don’t wanna fuck you when you’re just thinking…oh hell, just let him get this over with.” 

“I know,” Carol said. “And I think—I knew that, then. But I didn’t trust myself to tell you what I wanted. I didn’t trust myself to—stick with it. So, I asked you to leave so that I wouldn’t…lie to you. And I wouldn’t have sex with you that…I didn’t want. And I guess I lied to you because I didn’t tell you the whole truth.” 

Daryl lit another cigarette for himself and turned to sit normally in the rocking chair. He nursed his beer and stared out at the yard like it was a beautiful view instead of a plain backyard in need of a mowing.

“Please say something,” Carol said, finally. 

“What do you want me to say?” Daryl asked.

“Anything,” Carol said. “Daryl—I’m sorry. Say anything…anything you want to me. I’ll hear it.” 

“I bet you will,” Daryl mused. “In fact—I bet you’ve heard a lot. Enough.”

“What does that mean, Daryl?” 

“It means—I’m glad you were honest with me,” Daryl said with a sigh. “But—I’ma ask you to be more honest with me, Carol. Otherwise—I won’t feel like I can trust you.” 

“You can trust me…”

“Not if you gonna lie to me, I can’t,” Daryl said. “Not if I gotta wonder if—if every time we’re fuckin’ you’re really wishin’ we weren’t. I’m not Ed, Carol.”

“I know you’re not,” Carol said. 

“But sometimes you forget. He’s been with you a long damn time.” 

“I’m sorry,” Carol said. “I’m so sorry…I shouldn’t…should I have told you?” 

“The last thing I want is you thinkin’ that you shouldn’t have told me ‘cause you don’t want me upset,” Daryl said. “Shit—that’s the same thing. You see that? I can’t promise that not a damn thing is ever gonna upset me. I can’t. I’m as human as any damn body. But—I can promise that I ain’t Ed. And whether I get upset or not, I wanna know the truth. Your truth.” 

Carol nodded and wiped at her eyes. 

“OK,” she said. “If it comes up again. If you want—whatever—something in the future? I will promise you my truth.” 

“That’s all I’m askin’,” Daryl said. He fell into quiet contemplation.

“If you want to go home,” Carol said. “You can take the pizza. You shouldn’t have to make dinner or buy something else just because I ruined your evening.” 

“You want me to go?” Daryl asked. “Is that your—truth?” 

“You don’t want to go?” Carol asked. “I thought you’d be upset.”

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“Hell—I been upset before. I’ma be upset again. But if you don’t want me to leave, the quickest damn way I know to feel better would be to eat pizza. Watch a movie. Maybe sit together on the couch—just sit together. But if you want me to leave…”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Carol said. “I don’t. And that’s—the absolute truth.” 

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

AN: So, we have a two-part date night.

I hope you enjoyed the first part. Let me know what you think!


	30. Chapter 30

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol served them both slices pizza on paper plates, arranged other assorted snacks on the table, and served soda while Daryl rolled through the channels on the television in search of one that would offer what he deemed a perfect movie for the evening.

Carol wanted to see something that Daryl liked—one of the types of movies that he’d choose if he were just lounging around at home, looking for something to watch. She wanted to experience something he enjoyed, and he liked the sentiment of that idea. While he was selecting the movie, it made him realize why she seemed so pleased that he was reading her books. 

It was an easy way to say something about yourself without being forced to find any words that may be difficult to find.

They’d missed the first fifteen or so minutes of the movie that Daryl chose, but he promised Carol that wasn’t a problem and explained to her what they’d missed as he figured it out. These movies were predictable, and that was one of the things that, maybe, he liked best about them.

“There’s no worryin’,” Daryl explained with a shrug. “You know shit’s just gonna work out. Don’t matter how bad it seems or—even if you think that there’s no way they’re gonna get there. They always get there. The shit always works out. You know, from the very beginning, that the endings gonna be good, so you can just…relax.” 

Carol had eased over closer to him. She was making her way, slowly, always checking his expression to see what he might say or how he might respond. 

She was giving him permission to decide how angry he was with her for the truth that she’d told him.

Daryl had already made up his mind, though, not to be angry at all. The way he saw it, Carol had told him the truth—and it hadn’t been an easy truth for her to tell—about her feelings and her perceptions, or misperceptions, as the case may be. She’d given him a piece of her life, and she’d shared how something in her past stayed with her and changed her perspective. She’d admitted fear to him. And she’d made it clear that someone’s reactions—namely Ed’s—had shaped how she responded to certain things.

She had apologized for any hurt her knee-jerk reaction might cause Daryl, and Daryl had accepted her apology—not that it was truly needed. She didn’t have to apologize to him for having feelings or concerns. 

Now the ball was in Daryl’s court. Carol’s ex-husband, Ed, had taught her that the only reactions to her truth were negative reactions. He’d taught her to expect anger and violence. It was Daryl’s turn, now, to teach her how he reacted to her truth. 

If he wanted to be immature about it, he could pout because the thought that she might see him as a monster, like Ed, stung. He could sulk and scowl and force her to apologize over and over again for something she couldn’t change and couldn’t take back anymore than she already had. He could rage or, even being quiet about things, he could leave to make sure she knew that he didn’t appreciate her body’s response to situations that reminded her of situations in her past.

But if he did any of those things, ultimately, he was teaching her that his response to her truth—and to any possible misstep she might make, even if it was one that caused him no true injury and for which she’d sincerely apologized—was negative. He was teaching her that, in some way, he would punish her for her truth.

If he did that, he couldn’t really close his eyes at night and believe himself any better than Ed Peletier just because his punishment took a different shape.

What good would it do him to punish her if that wasn’t what he wanted or felt?

Once their hands were free from pizza plates, Daryl had dropped an arm around her, and he’d invited her to lean against him. She’d come, willingly, and snuggled against him. He’d closed his eyes, for a moment, at the sensation of her affectionately brushing her face against his chest.

“I like that,” Carol said. “I like happy endings.” 

“Me, too,” Daryl agreed. “Hell—there’s enough bullshit in life. I don’t wanna sit my ass down to watch more of it.” 

Carol laughed quietly and snuggled into him a bit more. He felt a shiver run up the length of his spine at the feeling of comfort that it brought him—a feeling of peace washed over him.

They watched most of the movie in silence—the kind of silence that Daryl found relaxing, and not the angry silence with which he could have punished Carol if he’d been so inclined. They’d shared snacks, quietly offering each other this kind of candy or that one, or kernels from a bowl of popcorn that Carol popped while pacing back and forth during commercials.

“Well?” Daryl asked, when the movie was over.

Carol sat up from her position—she’d been curled against him, sliding a little further down with the passing of time.

“I liked it,” Carol said. “I like those kinds of movies. They’re…”

“Warm,” Daryl offered.

Carol smiled.

“They’re warm,” she agreed. “They make you feel warm. And happy.” 

“That’s one thing I like about ‘em,” Daryl said. 

“What else do you like about them?” Carol asked. “The happy endings. The warmth.” 

“I like that they always end with love,” Daryl said. 

“Of course,” Carol said. “That’s one of the most important things. And it’s part of what makes them happy.” 

“I like that you can just—breathe while you watch it,” Daryl said. “I never liked scary movies or shit like that where you couldn’t breathe.” 

“Predictability is relaxing,” Carol confirmed.

“At least the good kind,” Daryl agreed. 

“Your movies are the same genre as my books,” Carol said. “We have that in common.” 

“They’re a little different, though,” Daryl said. “At least—the ones I’ve read so far. I admit that I got a ways to go before I can call myself an expert.” 

“How are they different?” Carol asked, reaching for the bowl of popcorn. She offered it to Daryl, but he waved it away. Instead, he reached for the candy that he’d been eyeing for the past hour—not wanting to sit up to get it out of fear that Carol, once disturbed, might not come back to find that one perfect spot she seemed to have found against his body.

“You’re serious, you want my opinion?” 

Carol laughed to herself. 

“I’m serious,” she assured him. “I want your opinion. Analyze the differences between the romance novels and the romantic movies.” She winked at him with a smile. “Talk nerdy to me.”

Daryl couldn’t help but laugh to himself. He felt his face grow warm, but he ignored the rising heat. He cleared his throat. 

“All right,” he agreed. “One of the biggest differences I see is that your books got some kind of adventure that’s happenin’. My movies don’t.” 

“There’s an adventure in the movie,” Carol said.

“Madison helpin’ save her grandparents’ small town bakery ain’t the same kinda adventure as Maureen headin’ off to Scotland on some kinda find herself vacation after her whole life falls apart,” Daryl argued.

Carol laughed.

“OK—maybe they’re a little bit different, but that’s just one example,” Carol said.

“I ain’t read but two books, Carol,” Daryl said, forcing playful irritation behind his words. “And the other book was like the wild west and that’s like adventure all in itself…like survival against all odds.” 

“Madison was fighting for the survival of the bakery and her grandparents’ legacy,” Carol argued, a smirk on her face as she ate popcorn, one kernel at a time, nipping off pieces of each kernel instead of eating the whole thing in one bite.

“You ain’t really gonna sit here and think that holds water,” Daryl said.

“OK,” Carol said. “OK. I’ll give you the point. There’s a bit more adventure in my books. But that’s not all of them. I mean there are a few where it’s more like the movie. Some small-town type books are in there. You just haven’t gotten there yet.” 

“Yours are goin’ off to find adventure,” Daryl said. “Mine are—comin’ home.” Carol’s smile was soft and faint. “What? Are you laughin’ at me?” Her smile grew.

“I think we’re both laughing at each other a little bit,” Carol said. “Don’t you think? Good laughter. And—to tell you the truth, I’m enjoying it.” 

Daryl smiled to himself. His heart drummed oddly out of its natural rhythm like it liked the sound of that.

“Me too,” Daryl said. “To tell you the truth.” 

“Home is—very important to you,” Carol said.

Daryl felt his chest flood and tighten. He felt his face flood and run warm. His breathing changed, almost instantly and without warning. He nodded, though. If he chickened out on her, how could he expect her to say things to him, in the future, that were hard to say? 

“It’s what I want more’n anything,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “A home full of—full of love like that. It’s nice to see it in the movies. Makes it seem like—even if it doesn’t exist? It could.”

“You have a home, though,” Carol said.

“Not that kinda home,” Daryl said. 

“You want the whole thing,” Carol said. Daryl nodded. “The home. The…family.”

“All that. And the predictability. The good kind. The happy endings.” Daryl said. “Do you want the adventure? You think that’s why you like the books?” 

Carol licked some popcorn crumbs off her lips before raising the next kernel to nibble all the jutting pieces off of it. 

“I like the home, too. Don’t get me wrong. I like the idea of some adventure, maybe,too,” Carol said. “The furthest I’ve gone in my life is Living Springs. At least—in my adult life. That I can remember. I vaguely remember going to the beach a few times as a little girl—a very little girl. But Ed never wanted to go anywhere on vacation. People are too nosy when you’re on vacation.” She laughed to herself. “Once I got divorced, I stayed busy with the café. Getting it off the ground. I got kind of stuck in a rut, maybe. Maybe I still am. Yeah—I guess…I’d like some of the adventure. I mean, I don’t need to go all the way to Scotland, but it would be nice to pack a suitcase.” 

“I don’t hate the idea of adventure or vacation,” Daryl offered. “It’s just—I like the idea of comin’ home, too.”

“Especially to that kind of home,” Carol said. Daryl nodded his head. She didn’t look too disapproving, though, so she wasn’t judging him too harshly for his attachment to the idea of the warm and happy home that they’d see at the end of the movie when Madison, taking over her grandparents’ bakery so that they could retire in peace and happiness, had married her high school sweetheart, Matt, and started a life together in the little farmhouse that appeared to be only a few feet away from the orchards where the fruit for her pies and pastries grew in abundance. “Are there other differences? Between the books and movies?” 

“One big one,” Daryl said. 

“Which is?” Carol asked.

Daryl felt his face get warm again, but he was growing used to the sensation and it was easier to ignore—it also felt like the heat passed quickly. Maybe his body was recognizing that Carol, though she was paying him very close attention, wasn’t teasing him mercilessly for his thoughts on the genres they were discussing.

“Sex,” Daryl said. “Now—you know good as I do that men have a reputation. And I’ma be the first to admit that some men live up to that reputation more’n others do, but we have a universal reputation for bein’ some kinda hounds that are always sniffin’ around and tryin’ to scare up pussy wherever we can.” 

Carol laughed at his words and her whole face blushed red. Daryl’s stomach caught and clenched. It immediately reminded him of their earlier discussion—something he’d very nearly forgotten about with the progression of the evening. For a moment, he wondered if he should have thought before he’d spoken and avoided the conversation entirely. Carol didn’t object, though, and her expression didn’t indicate that he’d done anything genuinely wrong. 

She cleared her throat and washed down her popcorn bits with some of her soda. When she sat back on the couch, still facing him, she stretched and rested her legs across his lap. He caught her expression—mostly around her eyes. She asked him if it was OK without ever opening her mouth. He responded by dropping his hands to her legs to squeeze the muscles gently. She relaxed, letting go of the tension that had kept her back somewhat straight for a moment. Daryl dared to work his hands further down, catching her bare feet to massage them, and she didn’t protest.

“I’ll agree,” Carol said. “It’s a reputation that men have.”

“But it’s a stereotype,” Daryl said. “We don’t all live up to it. We’re not all guilty of bein’ sex-sniffin’ hound dogs.” 

Carol tipped her head to the side like she was considering it. She hummed at him and smiled softly. 

“I’ll cede that some of you are innocent.” 

Daryl’s chest tightened. He cleared his throat to try to loosen the muscles in his chest.

“But your books? They’re way on heavier on the sex than my movies. There were—shit, I can’t even remember all of the stuff that was written, but…there were a lot of lusty looks, heavings, and throbbings, and all that going on in Scotland.”

Carol’s cheeks ran pink.

“I told you…some of them are…”

“Cheesy porn,” Daryl supplied. He laughed to himself. “And I believe you.”

“You don’t have to read them,” Carol said.

“I don’t mind it,” Daryl said. “I’m just sayin’—after readin’ that, I don’t even know where women got the idea that it’s just men.” 

“It’s not just men,” Carol ceded. “You’re right about that.”

“You just like your cheesy porn written out for you,” Daryl said with a snort. “There weren’t a single bit of sex in my movie.”

“OK—but you know they were having sex,” Carol said.

“Didn’t say you didn’t,” Daryl said. “Hell—they had a baby in that last little shot of them walkin’ through the orchard. They either had sex to get it or…they adopted it.”

“And that night on the porch,” Carol said. “It might’ve just gone to the next day, but you know what that moment insinuated.”

“Insinuated,” Daryl agreed. “But it weren’t some lusty ecstasy by the seaside or somethin’ like that.” 

Carol laughed to herself. 

“It’s romantic,” she said. 

“Sex on the beach is romantic?” Daryl asked. “With the way sand sticks to everything that’s even the slightest bit wet, Carol?” 

“In a book it is,” Carol said. “Where the sand is imaginary and there are no tourists. It’s fantasy. Adventure—something different.” She sucked in a breath and let it out. Daryl didn’t mind the sound because it was the relaxed kind of sigh and not the stressed kind. He continued to work the muscles in her feet, happy to have an excuse to touch her and to have something to do with his hands all at once. “You want to know the truth?” 

“I swear to you that I ain’t never gonna want to know another damn thing, except the truth,” Daryl said. “And that’s the truth.” 

Carol laughed quietly to herself. 

“First—I don’t just read the books for the cheesy porn, that’s just part of the book. But, secondly? I started reading those books a long time ago, and I think I liked it because everyone always seemed to be enjoying the sex. It was good sex. You know? They really—liked each other. They wanted to be with each other. They’re enjoying being with each other.”

“It was a vacation,” Daryl offered. “In more ways than one.” 

Carol smiled to herself and nodded.

“I guess you could say that,” she said. “About this weekend…”

“You don’t gotta apologize no more,” Daryl assured her quickly. “I mean it. It’s done. It’s—water under the bridge. No harm, no foul. There’s no damage done to anybody, OK? I just don’t want you to get stuck thinking you’ve got to apologize over and over again.” 

She laughed to herself.

“I appreciate you saving me from myself,” she said. “Because I was going to apologize again. But—I was also going to say that—I really enjoyed…everything. I enjoyed being with you.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Both times. And just because I needed some time to get used to things, and just because I…got scared of old patterns? Daryl—I don’t want you think that means that I didn’t enjoy the rest of it. Because I did. And…” she broke off, laughing quietly to herself, “that’s the truth.” 

Daryl’s heart picked up. It beat rapidly at the reassurance that, even if she’d had a moment of fear and concern, she’d truly enjoyed the rest of the weekend. He kept his hands busy with her feet, but then he stopped and patted her leg.

“I liked it, too,” Daryl said. “A lot.”

Carol smiled at him. 

“Maybe we can do it again sometime?” 

Daryl squeezed her muscle and nodded.

“I’ma tell you what,” he said. “I’ma leave that box here. You keep it. Hold onto it. There ain’t no rush. Whenever you’re ready to use it again—really ready, and not just thinkin’ I might be ready—you let me know.” 

“Are you saying you want me to—ask you for sex?” Carol asked, blushing at the thought. 

Daryl nodded, his stomach tightening.

“That’s exactly what I’m sayin’,” Daryl said. “And you can’t ask me tonight. At the earliest? You gotta wait until next time I see you. Because I’ma go ahead and tell you that—I’ma say no tonight. And I might say no then, too.”

“Because you’re upset about what happened?” Carol asked.

Daryl shook his head. 

“Because—I just don’t wanna have sex tonight,” Daryl said. “And—I got the right to say no if that’s what I’m thinkin’, don’t I?” 

Carol smiled to herself. She nodded.

“You do,” she said. “When’s the next time I see you? Just—so I know.” 

Daryl licked his lips. 

“A little bird told me there’s a restaurant you might like—it’s about an hour and a half from here. We could do that on Friday, if you want. Since we might get back late.” 

“Is the little bird named Andrea?” Carol asked. Daryl’s heart nearly stopped in his chest. Carol smiled. “She told me she swore you to secrecy until she talked to me.”

“That OK?” Daryl asked.

Carol nodded her head. 

“I think that’s fine,” Carol said. “But—I hope your brother’s kind to her. She’s my oldest friend, Daryl. She’s been seeing Shane Walsh on and off for years and—he’s a real asshole. She deserves better than that.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“I don’t know what Merle’s got to offer her,” Daryl admitted. “But—maybe one kind of asshole is better than another. If it makes you feel any better, she seems to like him.” 

Carol nodded her head as if to say that it did make her feel at least a little better.

“So—I won’t see you until Friday?” She asked.

Daryl felt struck for a second. Then the feeling of surprise turned into a warmth that spread through his chest. He thought he was making it up, at first. He thought it couldn’t be real. Finally, though, he’d settled on the fact that his senses weren’t lying to him. There was genuine disappointment in Carol’s tone and on her features.

“You wanna see me before Friday?” Daryl asked.

“I mean—it’s kind of a long time,” Carol said. “Don’t you think? Do you—think?” 

Daryl’s heart beat wildly and his breath involuntarily came in smaller, quicker breaths. She was absolutely disappointed, and it was an unexpected reaction.

“It is kind of a while,” Daryl said, not wanting to sound too anxious. His hands were still resting loosely on her calf. He wondered if she could feel the slight tremor that he was sure was running through them. “Maybe we could—think of somethin’ else before then. You could think about…somethin’ you might like.” 

“You know I don’t like to pick that kind of thing,” Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself. He had a feeling that, honestly, there was another part of her life there—behind that statement—that he would eventually uncover in all its glory. Tonight, though, wasn’t the night. Tonight, she’d already shared her truth, and he wasn’t going to force her into sharing more. He knew how exhausting it could be, sometimes, to share even a little piece. 

“You right,” Daryl said. “Maybe I could think of somethin’ then, that you liked, too. That suit you?” 

“I’d like that,” Carol confirmed. “I know you said—that you’d absolutely say no to sex tonight...” 

“I meant that,” Daryl offered interrupting her before she could say anything else. Carol laughed to herself.

“I know. But—would you say no to…turning some of these candies into sundaes or making floats with the soda? I bought some vanilla ice cream when I was buying all this junk food.” 

Daryl smiled to himself.

“Are you invitin’ me to dessert—ice cream, no less, this late in the evening?” He asked.

“Is it too late?” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“No,” he assured her. “It ain’t too late. Not for me.”


	31. Chapter 31

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl didn’t know old Agnes Wheeler was, exactly, but he guessed that she was somewhere in the neighborhood of a hundred years old. In appearance, she had the look of an apple doll, and her body was rail thin. Her skin and clothing hung off her like age had simply worn the stuffing out of her. Agnes Wheeler was one of the happiest people that Daryl knew, though, and she got around well despite her age. She lived on her own and, by her own admission, had no close family to speak of. Her husband—George—had passed away many years before, and they’d never had any children. Everyone she was related to lived scattered across various distant states. In some ways, Daryl found her mind to be quite sharp, but in others, he could notice a pretty obvious decline with the passing of time. 

Daryl liked Agnes Wheeler, who had long ago requested that Daryl simply call her Agnes, and he was good at tolerating how chatty she was when it bothered others. She would talk the ears off corn, as the saying went, but it was a habit to which she readily confessed. Daryl assumed that she was simply lonely, and it didn’t bother him to wander through her house fixing things and tightening screws while she told him stories about her life—be they true or otherwise.

Agnes wasn’t originally from Living Springs, though her cadence and drawl didn’t exactly mark her as someone who was completely foreign to the southern United States. Agnes had actually been born in South Dakota and she claimed to have met the famous Dora DuFran, in Deadwood no less, before the woman’s demise. Agnes had come to Georgia with her husband, who was transferred through his work with a mill, and they’d settled in Living Springs after his retirement.

She lived in a nice little house that had been built in the early forties and, although she kept it in good shape, really, there was frequently a need for a quick visit from a handyman—especially since George had passed away. Agnes was the only client that Daryl would regularly work for, after hours, without charging her after-hours fees. She had his personal number, and that wasn’t something that Daryl handed out too readily. 

“You can just give it to me straight, Daryl,” Agnes said, hovering close enough that she could practically have stepped on Daryl’s legs. He eased his way out of the awkward position where he was stuck with his head in her bathroom cabinet. “I can take it.”

“I just about got this fixed enough to hold you,” Daryl said. “A couple more minutes and it’ll get you through until after lunch, no problem. I can run down, after I eat, and pick up the supplies at the hardware store to stop the leak.”

“And that’s it?” She asked.

Daryl knew what she was asking. He chewed his lip. He was straightforward with everyone he got assigned to do a job for, and Agnes was no exception. 

“Worst part ain’t the leak,” Daryl said. “It’s the damage the leak’s already done down here.” 

“I knew everything in that cabinet kept feelin’ damp,” she mused. 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“More’n feelin’ damp, Agnes, I got a good feeling that your stuff was gettin’ soaked,” Daryl said. “But—it’s up to you if you just want me to fix the pipe, or if you want me to try an’ fix the inside of the cabinet, too.”

“Can you do that?” 

“I can do minor construction,” Daryl said. “But there are people that are better at it than I am, I’m sure. It’s what they do for a living. Nothing but construction. For me it’s just a—side trade.”

Agnes smiled widely and then she narrowed her eyes at him. 

“A jack of all trades,” she teased. Daryl laughed to himself and nodded.

“But a master of none,” Daryl finished. “I can give you some numbers. People I’d recommend. You decide what you want to do. You ain’t gonna hurt my feelings, Agnes. Neither way.”

“I just want you to fix it,” Agnes said.

“You sure? I mean—you can think about it,” Daryl said.

“I don’t want someone else bumpin’ around in my house,” Agnes said. “You just fix it.” 

Daryl laughed to himself at the woman’s clear distaste over the thought of having someone else come out and fix her problems. That distaste was one reason that Daryl was regularly there. He knew that, for a while, Tyreese had tried to give her jobs to others, but she had simply taken to telling Tyreese, right off the bat, what she expected for her money—and she expected to choose who she wanted to do her service. After a while, Tyreese hadn’t even tried to redirect things.

“I’ma wrap this up,” Daryl said. “Get you through so it don’t cause no more damage. After lunch, I’ma go to the store. Get what I need to fix this. Then I’ll figure out what I need to fix the cabinet and check with Ty about workin’ my schedule around to get this cabinet done soon as I can.”

“You take your time,” Agnes called as she walked off to do something else within the house. “It’s been leakin’ for some time, and I didn’t see fit to think of it as urgent before. I don’t suppose the floor’ll fall through in a day or two.” 

Daryl snorted as he swallowed back his amusement at the old woman’s assessment of things—her voice fading, as she spoke, thanks the distance she put between them. He ducked back under the cabinet and finished jerry-rigging the sink so that the leak wouldn’t cause anymore damage in the meantime. It wasn’t perfect, but it was just about as perfect as a temporary fix ever got.

Daryl texted Tyreese before he even left the bathroom floor to ask him if he could start shifting his schedule around and passing some hours and jobs off to others. Daryl was already late for lunch and the job for Agnes, as he told Tyreese, was a lot a bigger than one of the minor knob-tightenings that Daryl had imagined it might be.

When Daryl left the bathroom, he found Agnes in the kitchen. She was holding a plastic sandwich baggie full of cookies in her skinny hand—which almost appeared to be some kind of talon thanks to the fact that it was practically nothing but bone—and she was clearly waiting on Daryl.

He smiled at her to mirror the smile that she wore on her face.

“You ain’t gotta feed me,” Daryl said. “I’ma go get somethin’ to eat now. I’ll be back in about an hour—hour and a half—to fix that pipe. I’m leavin’ my toolbox here, if you don’t mind.” The request to leave his tools there was hypothetical. Agnes didn’t care. She was the kind that had already given him a key to her house. He probably could have simply moved into one of her empty rooms, if such a thing had interested him. 

“Here,” Agnes said, forcing the cookies on Daryl. He tried to wave them away again, though they both already knew that he often gave up the game after a bit and took whatever treats Agnes had on offer. She smiled at him, narrowing her eyes. “They aren’t for you. They’re for your wife.” 

“My wife?” Daryl asked with a laugh, finally accepting the baggie. He figured that Agnes had gotten him confused—as she sometimes did, especially lately—with someone she’d known in what practically seemed to be a past life. She confused details about his life with those she got from cousins, nephews, distant relatives, and even, sometimes, with people from the soap operas she liked watching on television. 

Agnes smiled broadly. She wagged her eyebrows at him and the bony hand that had held the baggie—cold despite the unusually warm temperatures that she tended to prefer in her home—wrapped around Daryl’s arm. 

“You didn’t tell me she was so pretty,” Agnes said. 

“Agnes—what’cha talkin’ about?” Daryl asked. “Where do you—think you’ve seen my wife?” 

“I just come to the window to watch the birds,” Agnes said. “You know I got two woodpeckers now that come to eat every day?” 

“You alright?” Daryl asked, suddenly concerned that the woman might be suffering from some kind of episode. Her smile renewed, but it was softer.

“She’s waiting on you,” Agnes said. “Probably because I kept you late for lunch with my silly leak. You better go on, Daryl. The leak’ll keep.” 

Agnes practically pushed Daryl out the door, baggie of cookies in hand, and Daryl was shaking his head to himself at her antics as he stepped out the door and fished in his pocket for his keys. He looked up, practically blinded by the sun, to see that he wasn’t alone. Only his truck was parked in Agnes’ driveway, given that she parked her old car in the garage, but there was a small SUV on the curb that wasn’t normally parked there. 

Leaning against the vehicle—as beautiful as if she’d been posing for a picture in a magazine—was Carol.

Daryl couldn’t help but smile.

“What are you doin’ here?” He asked, steering his steps away from his truck and toward Carol’s vehicle. She took a bag that was sitting on her hood and started toward him. She was smiling broadly, and it made Daryl’s heart pick up its rhythm. 

“Does that mean I shouldn’t have come?” Carol asked. “I debated with myself all morning.” 

“No—I mean…I just…wasn’t expectin’ to see you here,” Daryl said.

As they reached each other, Daryl could see the anxiety on Carol’s features. She hid it well, but it was evident around her eyes.

“It’s Wednesday,” Carol said. “And—I just wanted to surprise you with lunch.” She offered him the bag and he took it before he could really fully digest what she’d said. “I stopped by the office. I thought you might be there. Tyreese gave me this address, and…Oh, God…I shouldn’t have done this, should I?” 

For a second, Daryl digested everything, but then he smiled and tried to relieve a little of Carol’s concerns. 

“You didn’t commit a mass murder, Carol,” he said. “You just—brought me lunch. And—I appreciate that. More’n you know.” 

She blushed. Either that, or she was getting sunburned from having stood outside Agnes’ home and waited on him. 

“You mean that?” 

Daryl hummed and nodded. 

“You gonna—eat with me?” Daryl asked. Carol checked her wrist. She frowned at him. 

“I can’t,” she said. “It’s already twenty after. I left at a quarter ‘til. I told Jacqui I’d be back in time to help with the rush—we’re usually crazy from twelve thirty to one. I’m sorry!” 

Daryl swallowed down his disappointment. He was surprised at how sharply he felt it. He hadn’t even expected to see Carol in the middle of the day, and now he felt like he’d swallowed a lead weight at the sheer thought that she really needed to get back to her job for one of her day’s biggest rushes. 

Daryl pushed his irrational sadness aside and forced a smile to relieve Carol’s concern. 

“Hey—it’s good,” he said. “It’s OK. You didn’t have to wait out here all this time. You coulda left.” 

“I wanted to give you lunch,” Carol said. “I wanted to see you. I thought—we’d have a few minutes but…”

“But I’m late,” Daryl said, nodding his understanding. “And that’s on me, OK? It ain’t on you. I wish I wouldn’ta been late, but…I appreciate the lunch.” 

“It’s a wrap,” Carol said. “A Greek chicken wrap. Sort of. They’re pretty popular. Plain chips because I didn’t know what you’d like and a slice of apple pie.” She glanced at his hand. “Though I see you already have cookies.” 

Daryl cleared his throat. 

“Those are for you, actually,” Daryl said.

“For me?” 

“For—uh—my wife,” Daryl said. Carol raised an eyebrow at him. Daryl laughed to himself. “I swear—Agnes saw you out here and jumped to her own conclusions. That’s all it is. Here—take ‘em. They pretty good.”

“You keep them,” Carol said. 

“You don’t eat cookies?” Daryl asked.

“Everyone eats cookies,” Carol said.

“Then take ‘em and eat ‘em,” Daryl said. “Closest we get to lunch today is—swappin’ lunch. It ain’t much of a trade, but it’s all I got on me. Besides—I bet you Agnes is watchin’ us right now to make sure I give you these cookies.” 

Carol smiled to herself and took the baggie of cookies. 

“Are you—busy tonight?” Carol asked. 

Daryl’s heart drummed hard in his chest. 

“You askin’ me not to be?” He asked.

He could see her chest moving at a faster pace than it normally did. 

“I could make something,” Carol offered.

“You askin’ me to come over?” Daryl asked.

“If you didn’t—have any other plans,” Carol said. 

Daryl laughed to himself and quickly swallowed it back.

“I can think of a lot of ways to pass an evening,” Daryl said. “In the past couple days—hell, I’ve even googled a few. Just gettin’ ideas for like—you know—if I was tryin’ to think of ways to spend an evenin’. Are you askin’ me to spend this one with you, Carol?” 

She hesitated a moment and stared at him. He stared back at her, making it clear that he wasn’t going to budge on this one. 

“Will you come over?” Carol asked, the words coming out in a burst like she’d snatched off a particularly painful Band-Aid and was dealing with the smart that followed.

“That hurt a lot?” Daryl asked with a laugh.

“Asshole,” Carol said, laughing to herself. It was clearly nervous laughter. Almost immediately, though, her breathing seemed to start slowing down. 

“I am,” Daryl said. “The dough’s set, though, so I don’t think that’s liable to change. Up to you to decide if—you can tolerate it.” 

“I’ve got to get back to the café,” Carol said. “So—yes or no, Daryl?” 

Daryl raised his eyebrows at her.

“Wow—ask me to come over once, and then you get down right demanding,” he teased. Quickly, though, he stopped teasing. He didn’t want to push her too much, too fast. “Off at five. Gotta shower. Six?” 

“Are you—allergic to shellfish?” Carol asked.

Daryl shook his head. She nodded. 

“OK,” she said with a smile. “OK—then I’ll…have something nice. At six.” 

“And I’ll think about…how we can pass an evening,” Daryl offered. 

Carol stepped awkwardly toward him in the lawn, closing the last little bit of space between them, and Daryl’s pulse picked up again when he realized what she wanted—what she was seeking. She accepted the kiss, barely more than a peck, and gave Daryl a smile in exchange for it. 

He tossed thanks at her, again, for the lunch as she turned and walked quickly back to her vehicle. She had turned her car around, and had turned at the stop sign, before Daryl was buckled into his truck. 

And he didn’t miss the fact that, even though he was going to see her at six, the involuntary ache in his stomach let him know that he already hated to see her leave.


	32. Chapter 32

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“The hell are you doing in my bedroom?” Daryl asked, putting as much false annoyance behind his voice as was possible.

“Different cologne,” Merle said, practically grunting out the words like caveman uttering was all that was really needed to communicate. The problem was that he really wasn’t wrong.

Daryl dropped his towel, entirely unconcerned with modesty in the presence of his brother. He picked up his pack of cigarettes, worked two out of the pack, and lit both before he passed one to Merle. He didn’t have to ask; he knew his brother would accept one.

“You goin’ somewhere on Wednesday night, Merle?” Daryl asked, swallowing back his intrigue and slight amusement. He could already tell that Merle was going somewhere. 

Merle Dixon was freshly shaved—as fresh shaved as he ever got, since he thought he was too baby-faced if he shaved clean—and freshly showered. He’d taken obvious pains with his appearance, too. The black button-down shirt appeared to be pressed, and the last time that Daryl had seen Merle touch their ironing board was when one of their acquaintances had been killed in an accident and Merle had been asked to be a pall bearer. 

Merle laughed to himself at Daryl’s inquiry and worked at buttoning the wrist buttons of his shirt. Daryl, for his part, wrestled into a clean pair of underwear and his jeans. 

“What if I am, brother?” Merle asked.

“It’s Wednesday,” Daryl said. “And that ain’t what the hell you wear for huntin’ hard-up pussy at Salty’s, and you know it.” 

Merle’s smile renewed itself before he swallowed it down and moved to the other button. He admired himself in Daryl’s mirror. There was little that Merle Dixon liked looking at better than Merle Dixon—especially when he was feeling particularly fond of himself for whatever reason.

“Not goin’ to Salty’s,” Merle said.

“This whole damn thing rooted in mystery or some shit?” Daryl asked. “Or you gonna tell me what’cha doin’?” 

“Shit, Daryl,” Merle mused, his tone not matching his words. “I’m takin’ a lady out for dinner.”

“A lady?” Daryl asked, biting the inside of his cheek as he rifled through his closet to try to decide which shirt he’d wear for the evening. “Is this Andrea, Merle, or you done throwed her ass over for someone else?” 

Daryl had already let Merle know that Andrea and Carol, as it happened, were best friends since Merle was smart enough to figure out that Daryl and Andrea had at least made each other’s acquaintance. 

Merle grunted. Daryl assumed that was his response. Daryl pulled on his green shirt and worked his fingers quickly down the buttons.

“They got a two for one dinner deal at that steakhouse in Rockford,” Merle said.

“Big spender,” Daryl mused. “You spoil her ass like that, you won’t be able to run her off.” Merle hummed in his throat again. He was fussing abnormally with his shirt. Daryl cleared his throat. “You—uh—you don’t seem to be tryin’ too hard to run her off, Merle. Am I readin’ that shit wrong?” 

“Good pussy,” Merle said, practically mumbling the words. He finished his cigarette and snubbed it out in the black plastic ashtray on Daryl’s dresser with a great deal more attention than was necessary. 

“All about the pussy,” Daryl mused.

“This ain’t everyday run of the mill pussy,” Merle mused, almost to himself as much as to Daryl. “This is—pussy so good it’s got me considerin’ turnin’ vampire.” 

Daryl grimaced and shook his head. Merle laughed, glad to see that he could find something to say to get some kind of response. That was the kind of thing that Merle liked—Daryl didn’t think that Merle believed his own shit half the time, but he did love to try to get a rise out of people. 

“So, it ain’t nothin’ but the pussy that’s…got your attention?” Daryl asked. Merle grunted. Daryl sat down on the edge of his bed and started the process of getting his shoes on. “You know why I love talkin’ to you, Merle? ‘Cause some days you’ll talk just to hear yourself, and some days it’s like learnin’ to speak fuckin’ Neanderthal.”

“Hell—you wanna talk so bad, brother, let’s talk about somethin’ interesting,” Merle said. He walked around Daryl and helped himself to another cigarette before he burrowed around in one of Daryl’s drawers and helped himself, as well, to a pair of nail clippers and a file. “Let’s talk about your lil’ sweet thang…come up to the office today when I was just gettin’ settled in for lunch. Yeah—she ain’t seen me, but I seen her. Axel did, too. Come right on in like she owned the place. Asked Ty where the hell she might find your ass. Gone snoopin’, I guess. Figure out if you was really at work—and what kinda plumbin’ your ass was really doin’.” 

Merle laughed to himself, clearly amused by his own words and thoughts.

“You’re a regular fuckin’ riot, Merle,” Daryl responded. 

“Don’t be like that, Darylina,” Merle teased. “Just tell your big brother if you was layin’ a lil’ pipe durin’ lunch. There ain’t no law against it when you off the clock.” 

“Fuck you, Merle,” Daryl said. He got up, put on his cologne, and helped himself to another cigarette. He shoved the pack and lighter into his pocket. As he walked through to the living room, Merle followed him. The ironing board and iron were still out—Merle had pressed his shirt. Daryl hadn’t been imagining things.

“That means she ain’t give you none,” Merle said. “Uh oh—that don’t bode well, little brother. Your lil’ sweet thing was just checkin’ up on your ass.” 

“She brought me lunch,” Daryl said. “If you gotta know. I didn’t make it back to the office no way ‘cause I had shit to do for Agnes and I had to handle shufflin’ jobs around.” 

“You gettin’ any, brother?” Merle asked.

“Don’t you worry about me,” Daryl offered. “Or the condition of my dick. We both doin’ just fine.”

Merle smiled at him. He nearly showed him every one of his teeth. He raised his hand and wiped at the corners of his mouth to literally try to wipe the smile away.

“You oughta do what the hell I do, brother. Make her ass pony up. No deal, no meal, sugar.” 

Daryl frowned at his brother. He snubbed out his cigarette and poured himself a glass of sweet tea from the plastic pitcher in the fridge. Merle had made this pitcher, so he’d used about six more cups of sugar than was really necessary. It was just a little off from being comparable to maple syrup, but it would do.

“Do me a favor, Merle—and then you can go right back to buildin’ up your bravado to get your ass through the night—but be honest with me,” Daryl said. “Because Carol? She gives a shit about Andrea. A whole lot. Her best damn friend in the world, and she don’t beat no bones about it. And Andrea—she seems like a nice enough woman, Merle. Sweet. Friendly. Tell me you ain’t—not really—degradin’ her ass like that an’ makin’ her fuck for food or some damn crumb of human fuckin’ decency.” 

Merle’s smile fell. He helped himself to a beer and drank down half of it in one swallow before he dragged his hand across his mouth and belched loudly. He laughed at his own belch, ever-amused by things they were probably meant to have outgrown around the time both testicles had completely dropped and their voices had stopped cracking.

“Follow the same rules I always have, Daryl,” Merle said, this time speaking in a tone that made it clear that he was being sincere. “I don’t do a damn thing to her that she don’t want and don’t like. I know how to play by the fuckin’ rules, especially if they laid out clear for me. But I ain’t one to put limits on no damn body’s kinks, either, brother—and that’s all the hell I’ma say about that shit.” 

“Shit,” Daryl said, laughing to himself. “OK—good enough, Merle. So, you gonna—go get a buy one get one steak in Rockford?” 

Merle hummed.

“They got some kinda mix your own frozen yogurt place over there, too,” Merle said, clearly not interested in picking up the false bravado that he was attempting to sport earlier. He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down to nurse what was left of the beer. “Make her a lil’ sweeter, I figure.” He chuckled, and Daryl picked up the amusement. “Your lil’ sweet thing, Daryl, I got me a good look at her today.” 

Daryl bristled slightly. He felt every muscle tense.

“If you about to be an asshole, Merle, then I’d just as soon you didn’t. I ain’t said shit about Andrea—not to be an asshole.” 

“I was gonna say—she’s got a nice ass,” Merle said. “Hell—I weren’t close enough to see her face too good, but if she ain’t no butterface, I’ma assume it’s all good. She was put together all right.” 

“She ain’t no butterface, Merle,” Daryl said. “She’s real damn pretty.” 

“So—you done got my plans, brother. What you doin’ on a Wednesday night?” 

Daryl smiled to himself.

“Carol’s makin’ dinner,” Daryl said. “And I better go—I don’t wanna be late. I still got a stop to make.” Daryl put his glass in the sink. He grabbed his keys and wallet off the counter where he’d tossed them as he came in the door. “Be nice to Andrea, Merle,” Daryl called as he quickly left the house.

“Only nice as she wants me to be,” Merle yelled at him. Daryl heard him just as the door slammed shut behind him.

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Admittedly, the grocery store selection of small bouquets was desperately lacking in both variety and beauty, but Daryl was fairly happy with the small bundle of daisies and assorted wildflower varieties that he’d picked up. 

He got to Carol’s house about five minutes after he’d told her to expect him, but he figured that she’d probably forgive him a few minutes. He would have made it with time to spare if he hadn’t lingered so long debating between the white daisies and the yellow ones. Things like that felt like they were probably really important, but Daryl wasn’t sure how or why they were important, so they caused him to dawdle longer than intended as he waited for some kind of divine intervention to give him the gut instinct of what was the best choice.

He’d settled for the white daisies.

He took his little bouquet and practically jogged down Carol’s walkway. He was sure she wasn’t going to be angry about his slightly late arrival, but he almost felt like he couldn’t stand to wait any longer to get there—for the simple, quiet evening to get started. He laughed at his own ridiculousness as he reached the door and knocked. She had a doorbell, but the sound it made was harsh and, really, he felt like it ruined the calm and peaceful ambiance that Carol had created in her home.

Carol opened the door, already smiling. Daryl couldn’t help but catch the smile. 

“I hope you checked the peephole,” Daryl said. “I coulda been a stranger.”

“But you weren’t,” Carol said. “I checked.” She backed up. “Are you coming in?”

“Figured I’d stay on the porch all night,” Daryl teased. He stepped in and handed her the flowers. She took them and immediately traded him a kiss for the flowers. 

“Oh—I don’t have anything for you,” Carol lamented. “They’re so pretty, Daryl…thank you.” 

Daryl felt his whole body run warm. She was pink cheeked and she looked like she truly liked the flowers. Daryl had hoped she would like them, but he hadn’t fully prepared for the way it would make him feel to see her so evidently appreciate them. 

“They just grocery store flowers,” he offered. “But—if you’re feeling like we oughta trade, I’ll take another of them kisses if they’re on offer.”

She looked at him, brow furrowed for a second, like she was truly focusing on his words. Then she smiled and her features softened. She invited him back for another kiss and, this time, he wrapped his arms around her and held her against him, taking full advantage of the affection she gave.

Her cheeks were noticeably pinker when she pulled away. 

“I’m going to put these in water,” she said. She immediately got a glass and arranged the flowers in the glass with some water. The little bouquet wasn’t much, but she made it look nice. For a moment, she looked at the flowers on her table, and then she found a place for the new flowers on the counter. “There,” she said, admiring them and adjusting them slightly in their glass. “You know—I’m out of vases. Ed never brought me flowers—not unless it was to say, you know, I’m sorry, but I’m not really sorry. But you keep me practically swimming in them just because.” 

“You want me to stop?” Daryl asked.

She turned quickly and frowned at him. She had big doe eyes sometimes. Big, beautiful, blue doe eyes.

“It wasn’t a criticism,” she said. “I’m sorry if—it sounded like one.” 

“Don’t worry,” Daryl said. “It didn’t. I just don’t wanna—get on your nerves.” 

Carol laughed to herself. 

“If bringing me flowers got on my nerves…well…I don’t know what, but…it doesn’t get on my nerves. You want a beer or…water? I haven’t got much. There’s milk in there.” 

“Beer’ll do fine,” Daryl said. 

“Help yourself to anything in the fridge,” Carol said. “I need to finish cutting up a few things and dinner will be ready.” 

“Smells good,” Daryl said. “You need a beer?” 

“I’d like one,” Carol said. Daryl got one for her and opened it. He put it on the table, though, assuming that she meant she’d have it with her meal. She didn’t correct him, so he assumed that his guess was accurate. “I made—salad with sautéed garlic shrimp. I hope that’s OK.” 

Daryl’s stomach growled. 

“Sounds fuckin’ amazing,” Daryl said. 

“I didn’t know how hungry you’d be,” Carol said. “I didn’t think about it until I was already making it—committed, but…you’re probably hungrier than that, aren’t you? I should’ve made you something heavier. Something more filling. Meat and potatoes. I don’t always think of things like that…”

Daryl recognized the insecurity creeping in. He felt it. He understood it. It was the same insecurity that had him standing in front of the flower display, sure that the difference between yellow daisies and white daisies would get him sent home for the evening—and possibly forever.

“I like salad,” Daryl said. “Don’t weigh heavy when you’re goin’ to sleep later. I like meat n’ potatoes, too. There ain’t much I don’t like, Carol, when it comes to food.” He saw her visibly relax. She stood just a hair taller that she had a moment before, her anxiety practically causing her to curl in on herself. “That lunch today was…incredible.” She smiled to herself. Daryl watched her. 

Daryl didn’t know if it was normal to feel slightly aroused just from watching someone chop vegetables for a salad, but that was his current condition. Carol was barefoot. She was wearing jeans—worn, faded jeans. She was wearing a loose-fitting, light blue shirt that looked worn, and stretched, and like a favorite that had been probably been around for decades. She looked relaxed—entirely at home, which she was—chopping vegetables on the counter a few feet away from the newly place flowers and a burning candle that was probably lit to fight the smell of garlic shrimp.

Daryl let his eyes drift down to her ass. The jeans were a loose fit, but that didn’t obscure the view. Merle was a pig, but he wasn’t wrong. Carol had a nice ass, and she was well put together. 

And that damn soft little smile on her lips was almost as much of a turn-on, honestly. 

Daryl drank his beer and willed himself to think about other things. He felt his face run warm when Carol flicked her eyes in his direction.

“So—what do you have planned for tonight?” Carol asked.

Daryl smiled to himself.

“You didn’t plan nothin’?” He teased. She gave him a slightly annoyed expression. He could immediately tell that it was fake. He laughed to himself.

“I thought—conversation over dinner,” Daryl said. “Old fashioned. How was your day kind of shit, right?” 

“Sounds romantic,” Carol said. She raised her eyebrows at Daryl and then smiled. 

“To me, it is,” Daryl admitted, his stomach knotting slightly. Her smile softened a little.

“I know,” she said. “And—it sounds wonderful to me. And later?” 

“I’m open to anything that comes up—if you got anything in mind or…if it should come up in conversation,” Daryl said. “Or—if that don’t happen, I figured we might play a game.” 

“Like—Monopoly?” Carol asked.

“If you got it and you wanna play that one,” Daryl said. 

“I don’t really like Monopoly,” Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Then—I got somethin’ else in mind. But for now—why don’t’cha let me help you?”

“Salad’s almost done,” Carol said. “You sit down. Let me serve you dinner, Daryl.” 

“You serve people all day.” 

“I do,” Carol said. “But—I want to serve you dinner. Can I do that?” 

Daryl didn’t think that such a thing required the irregular beating that his heart decided to engage in, but the organ wasn’t much interested in listening to him—at the moment, he discovered that several of his organs were inexplicably rebellious. He cleared his throat, nodded his head to give his agreement, and found his way into a chair while Carol finished putting together the meal that she intended to serve them.


	33. Chapter 33

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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As the meal progressed, Carol felt herself relaxing more and more. She couldn’t attribute it to the beer. One beer wasn’t too much for her, it certainly wasn’t problematic when coupled with a meal, and she hadn’t even finished half of it by the time she’d finished her salad. 

It wasn’t the beer that made her relax. It was Daryl. 

And the moment that she realized that, her pulse picked up like a message to her that she was right—even if such a thought was a little bit terrifying. Carol meant to keep her guard up but, for some reason, it simply kept slipping. And, so far, Daryl hadn’t made her regret any of the slippage.

Dinner conversation had covered that Daryl was working on a plumbing problem and was going to have to replace damaged wood that would essentially leave him rebuilding a bathroom cabinet. Carol shared with Daryl how her day had gone—which was pretty uneventfully. She told him about the person who came by, claiming to be writing a book about the best dining establishments in Georgia, and then asked exactly what she could have for free, given that she was considering the café as one of her possible chapters. Jacqui’s response had been polite, in that it had included no actual expletives, but Carol doubted that they were to be featured in the likely non-existent book.

As the meal was winding down, Daryl asked Carol if she wanted to join him on the porch for an after-dinner cigarette. She simply nodded her agreement and followed him. He poured himself a glass of water to take with him, and Carol took the remaining half of her beer.

On the porch, Daryl lit the citronella candle before he lit his cigarette, and he stretched his back dramatically before he sat in the chair that had seemingly become “his” for the past few times they’d sat on the porch.

“That was damn good,” Daryl mused. “Damn good.” 

Carol couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s an easy recipe,” Carol said. “It’s not like it was—complicated or involved. It wasn’t much of anything, really.” 

Daryl looked at her for a minute. Then he nodded his head.

“That’s another thing we got in common,” he said.

“What?” Carol asked.

“It’s hard to know how to take a compliment when you ain’t used to hearin’ them. Or, worse, when you’re used to someone tearin’ into every damn little thing you do. I’m gonna guess that Ed weren’t often pleased with what you put on his plate.”

“He was very specific about what he wanted to eat,” Carol said. “It was almost like—ordering a meal. He put in his order, before work, for lunch. He’d call during the day to order dinner. Sometimes he would complain that—there was never anything new or exciting for dinner, but…if I made anything new…” Daryl nodded his head as he rocked in the chair. Carol licked her lips. “Even though I made what he wanted, it was never right. The meatloaf was too dry, the spaghetti sauce had too much spice, the eggs were overcooked or undercooked. I thought I couldn’t cook at all. I took a cooking class here at the Y. I sort of figured out—I did OK.” 

“And now you’ve got a successful business where you feed people good food. None of that—any shit he had to say—was about you. I’ve eaten a lot of your cooking,” Daryl offered. “Hope to eat more of it. You’ve done damn good with everything I’ve eat.” He held his hand up at her. “I know it feels awkward as shit, but just try this—just…say thank you.” 

Carol was surprised at the uneasiness that settled in her stomach over the idea of simply responding to such a statement with thanks, but she accepted it. She nodded at Daryl. 

“Thank you,” she said sincerely. The smile that followed was practically involuntary, especially since Daryl looked so pleased by the simple thanks. He relaxed into his chair again.

Carol sat back, meaning to enjoy the quiet for a moment, but there was something that had been nagging at her—in the back of her mind—for most of the day. It was silly, and she’d pushed it down and shoved it back every time it had popped up. It kept popping up, though. Finally, she sucked in a breath and decided to deal with it.

“Can I ask you something?” Carol asked.

“I hope so,” Daryl mused. “Otherwise—conversation’s gonna run out eventually.” 

“I’m serious,” Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Me too,” he said. “I don’t always know what to talk about. Like it just runs out, you know? Runs dry—sometimes right in the middle of things. If you’re askin’ me shit, it keeps things going.” He sat up and looked at Carol. “What is it? You can ask me whatever you wanna know.”

“I went by the office today,” Carol said. “Your workplace.” 

“I know,” Daryl said. “You told me and, besides that, Ty asked me about it when I got back, and my brother told me this evening that he saw you there.” 

“Merle was there?” 

“He said you didn’t see him, but he saw you,” Daryl said. “Is that your question?” 

“No,” Carol said. Her stomach churned a little with the question. She wondered, all at once, why she cared—but she did care. She wondered what Daryl would think of her question. She worried, even, about his response. It was silly, but she had to ask it now. She’d already started this, and Daryl would be able to tell if she simply tried to make up a question to ask him to fill in the space. Besides, if she didn’t ask him, it would still bother her, whether she wanted it to or not. “When Ty told me where you were, he said…he said you were working for your girlfriend today.” 

Daryl laughed to himself and lit another cigarette.

Carol had no reason to ask him to explain himself. She had no reason to have felt the gnawing feeling in her gut since Tyreese had said what he said—she had no reason to feel it now. She had no right to have any expectation at all, perhaps, of Daryl.

Still, she’d felt genuinely struck by the word, and the possibility behind it.

“You askin’ me if I—got a girlfriend?” Daryl asked.

“Don’t you think that’s the kind of thing that you should mention?” 

Daryl raised his eyebrows at her. 

“Don’t you think it’s the kinda thing I would mention?” Daryl asked. 

Carol’s heart was drumming in her chest. 

“I feel like you would…”

“Can I ask you somethin’?” Daryl asked, moving directly into the question before he’d even waited for Carol to acknowledge him. “Ed ever cheat on you?” 

“I’m sure he did,” Carol said. “I mean—I don’t have proof or anything like that. I know he wasn’t happy with me, though. Honestly, sometimes I was just happy if he wasn’t home. I’m sure some of that was time spent cheating, though.”

“But he liked havin’ you,” Daryl said. “Havin’ you there as a possession. For when he wanted you.”

“I guess that’s it,” Carol said.

“I don’t have an interest in that,” Daryl said. “I don’t wanna collect people. Hell—I don’t even like people that damn much to want to have a whole collection of ‘em. And—I do like you. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I thought you would mention it, but it’s not crazy to think that you would have a girlfriend, Daryl,” Carol offered. “I mean—I’m kind of surprised you don’t.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“I told you—they don’t really last for me. Every one of ‘em—I’m just the wrong kinda man, maybe.”

“Or they were the wrong kind of woman,” Carol said. She squirmed a little in her chair. Her instinct screamed at her. She was flirting—hard. She was wrapped up in the sensation that hearing Tyreese call some woman his girlfriend had created. She didn’t dare to put a name to that feeling, but she knew that by refusing it a name, that’s all she was doing—refusing to call it what it was. She knew what it was…and it scared her.

Carol wasn’t accustomed to feeling jealous. 

It scared her because, even in admitting to herself that she had such feelings, she was admitting that Daryl had the ability to control some of her feelings. She’d let her guard down, and he’d already slipped behind the barrier to some degree.

Daryl hummed to himself. If he recognized what she was going through, and everything she was feeling, he wasn’t anxious to press her or make her feel more uncomfortable. 

“Maybe,” he said.

“Well?” Carol pressed.

“Well, what?” Daryl asked.

“Are you going to—expand upon your answer to my question? Because that wasn’t a whole answer.” 

“Weren’t it?” Daryl asked. He laughed to himself. “Tyreese was givin’ you hell. Givin’ me hell, really. I was workin’ for Agnes today. He calls her my girlfriend.” 

“Agnes?” Carol asked.

“Agnes,” Daryl confirmed. “He calls her my girlfriend ‘cause she’s got somethin’, just about, that needs lookin’ at every week.”

“Are you sure it’s not just—to see you?” Carol asked.

“I do think she gets lonely,” Daryl said. “And I’m sure she don’t exactly hate to see me, but her house is kinda old. Little shit goes wrong and she don’t know how to fix it. She’s got me in there for nickel and dime jobs. I can usually fix her problems on my way to other jobs. Anyway, she’s all the time callin’ and askin’ for me. If Ty tries to send her someone else, she gets mad about it. So, he took to callin’ her my girlfriend and got everybody in there doin’ the same thing.” 

“It sounds like she likes you,” Carol said.

Daryl laughed.

“I think Agnes likes me alright,” Daryl offered. “She don’t mind me in her house and—she likes to tell me about her life. Thing is—Agnes has been livin’ her life for like a hundred years. She’s old enough to be my grandma, Carol. Hell—maybe my great grandma for all I know.” 

Carol felt a flood of relief wash over her. 

“Agnes is old?” 

“You think some lil’ young thing baked cookies for my wife?” Daryl asked. “Besides—it’s pretty damn evident that she thinks I’m married. At least, she does as of today. I mean—I didn’t set her straight. Mostly because I’m not sure she’ll remember anything she don’t want to remember or didn’t come up with herself. But if you want me to tell her she was wrong…”

“What harm does it do?” Carol mused. Daryl hummed in response.

“I don’t suppose it does any harm,” Daryl said. 

“The cookies were good,” Carol offered.

Daryl laughed.

“I’m glad you enjoyed ‘em. Glad you ate ‘em, really.” 

“I shared them with Andrea,” Carol admitted. “But I did eat some of them.” 

“I’ll tell Agnes,” Daryl said. “She’ll be thrilled that you liked her cookies. You—uh—thought of anything you might wanna do tonight?” 

“I thought you had a game planned?” 

“That don’t mean we can’t be flexible if somethin’ else has come to mind.” 

“I want to hear what you have planned,” Carol pressed. 

“I figured you would say that,” Daryl said. “Well—I was googlin’ shit to do on dates…”

“You googled what to do on dates?” 

“Damn sure did,” Daryl said. 

“You really did?” 

“Needed some ideas,” Daryl said with a laugh. “Anyway, I liked the one that was talkin’ about simple games. Now—one of the ideas was strip poker, but I vetoed that one.”

“I don’t know how to play poker anyway,” Carol admitted. “Ed used to play it, but…I never learned.” 

“It don’t matter,” Daryl said. “I vetoed it for my own damn good. Since I already said no to anything happenin’ tonight—I didn’t wanna put myself through some kinda torture.” 

Carol rocked up and faced Daryl. It was difficult to see him. It was growing dark and the light of the citronella candle only did so much.

“You’re the one that said no tonight,” Carol said. “You could—change your mind.”

“Lemme ask you somethin’,” Daryl said. “Do you kinda want me to change my mind? It ain’t gonna hurt my feelings either way. Just—do you at least kinda want me to change it?” 

Carol considered it. Her cheeks burned warm, but something else in her body vied for attention as well. 

“I do,” she said.

Daryl hummed.

“And do you kinda feel a little disappointed if I tell you that I’m stickin’ to what I said, and I won’t—I’m not gonna have sex with you tonight?” 

“I do,” Carol admitted. 

“Does it make you angry?” 

“No. Not—angry.” 

“Make you wanna—lash out at me? Yell at me? Call me a son of a bitch?”

Carol laughed to herself.

“No.”

“Make you want to hit me?” Daryl asked. “Claw my eyes out or some shit?” 

Carol’s stomach twisted at the thought.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Make you wanna—force me to fuck you?” 

“I—don’t know how to answer that,” Carol said, shuddering. “I don’t even want to think about something like that, Daryl.” 

“But you were taught to think about it,” Daryl said. “To expect it, right? You were taught that—that’s how the hell it makes people feel. How it makes ‘em think. What it makes ‘em do. You were taught that—just hearin’ that someone ain’t wanted to fuck, when you did, it was liable to cause all that shit.” 

Carol’s stomach twisted and her chest ached. It was harder to get in a full breath for a moment. But she appreciated what Daryl was saying.

“I was,” she admitted.

Daryl smiled at her from across the little table where the candle flickered.

“You see now it’s bullshit. It ain’t fatal. Might be uncomfortable. Disappointing. You ain’t gonna lose your mind because of it, though. Ain’t gonna go insane. Won’t lose all control and do some heinous shit, Carol. Not because of some little ‘no’ like that. If someone was to go insane? It wouldn’t be because of the ‘no,’ or even the disappointment. It would be because there was already something wrong in their head. No is just a word.”

“I think I understand what you’re saying,” Carol said. 

“Good,” Daryl said. “That means you won’t be scared of it the next time that—you feel like you wanna say it. I might be disappointed, but that don’t mean nothin’ more than that. I mean—I’ma hope you mean ‘no’ like ‘not right now, maybe definitely sometime in the future’, but that’s it...”

“Do you mean it like not now, but maybe definitely sometime in the future?” Carol asked with a laugh.

“I sure as shit don’t mean it forever,” Daryl said. “Unless…that’s how you’re feeling.” 

“That’s not how I’m feeling,” Carol said. “If you wanted to change your mind, I’d still allow it.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“I’ma hold to my principles for the night,” Daryl said with a laugh. “Even if it kills me. Besides—I kinda like the idea that…it might make you really wanna see me on Friday. It ain’t a bad feeling, knowin’ you’re waitin’ for me to say yes.” 

“I’m not used to that feeling,” Carol admitted.

“Me either.”

“The wanting to say yes or…the having someone want you to say yes?” 

“Either one,” Daryl admitted. “Which—brings up the game that I decided we oughta try if we weren’t gonna play strip poker.”

“Now I’m curious,” Carol said.

“Truth or dare,” Daryl said. 

A wave of anxiety washed over Carol.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“I’ll be nice if you will,” Daryl said. “Nothin’ too scary or embarrassing. Hell—we’ll even say each of us gets…three passes. How about that? You absolutely don’t wanna say it or do it? You can use a pass. I’m going out on a limb too, you know. I’ll even let’cha go first.”

“I might need another beer,” Carol admitted.

“I’ll make sure you get home alright,” Daryl teased. “Whatta you say? You trust me?” 

Carol thought about it a moment.

“I do,” she said. “Just—don’t make me regret it.” 

Daryl stood up and offered her a hand, clearly meaning to move them inside. She blew out the candle before she took his hand and stood up.

“Believe me,” he assured her, “that’s the last damn thing in the world I wanna do.” 

11111111111111111111111111111

AN: As I’m putting the next chapter together, I am accepting any questions that you might have for either party. I won’t promise that they’ll all make it in (depends on the flow of the chapter), but I’ll certainly consider them. So, if there’s anything that you would like one to ask the other (serious or otherwise), please let me know and I’ll see if it works or even sparks some other piece of the discussion.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Let me know what you think!


	34. Chapter 34

AN: So, here’s the first part of Truth or Dare night. There’s a sort of division of things, as you’ll see. This was also threatening to get super out of hand/long because these two have so much to talk about and experience with each other. 

Most of your questions were excellent and very much in the same vein as what I wanted for these two. I’ve incorporated (and will incorporate more) what really fits with the mood that I want for this evening. Maybe I should say moods, since we’ll see even more coming up. I thank you for your input and, if you didn’t input any questions, I thank you for your enthusiasm and encouragement to continue with the story! 

At any rate, here’s the first part. The second is, hopefully, soon to come. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol helped herself to another beer as soon as they were in the house. Daryl skipped the beer, but helped himself to some of the candy that Carol told him was still in the cabinet. He also refilled his water glass and lost his shoes before getting comfortable on the couch. Carol placed two candles on the coffee table, and she lit both of them before settling in.

Daryl leaned and invited her for a kiss, and she took him up on the invitation. For a few minutes, he wondered if they might forego their game entirely and settle for simply kissing on the couch—each of them testing different slight variations on the theme as they prolonged their exchanged kisses.

Carol was smiling at him, her eyes practically sparkling with the twinkling candlelight, and Daryl touched her cheek. She let her eyelids flutter closed at the simple affection, and Daryl’s whole body seemed to respond with warmth over the quiet affirmation of pleasure.

When she opened her eyes, her smile broadened, and she raised her eyebrows at him before reaching for her beer and getting comfortable.

“You want to go first?” She asked.

“I told you—you could have it,” Daryl said. “I’ma take truth first.”

She hummed to herself.

“I don’t know where to start,” she said.

“Somethin’ good,” Daryl said. 

“Something good?” 

Daryl laughed to himself and shrugged.

“Hell, if we’re gonna do it…” 

Carol nodded.

“Fine,” she said. “Anything?” 

“We can pass if we want to,” Daryl said. “We make the rules anyway. Hell, it’s our game.”

Carol thought for a moment and licked her lips.

“You said before that—you’d tried to have what you wanted with women before. That they ran. They weren’t the right kind of women…”

“I said I weren’t the right kind of man,” Daryl corrected.

“And I fixed it,” Carol said with a smile. 

“But you know that—so it ain’t a question.” 

“My question is—how many women, Daryl, have you been with?” 

“Shit—right to the damn heart of things,” Daryl said with a laugh. He helped himself to some of the candy. He offered it to Carol, but she waved it away.

“That’s what you wanted, right? I can pick something else.”

“No—no…but…do you mean like how many women have I…how many women have I done what with? Had sex with? Or—tried to…have somethin’ else with—not just a one-night thing?” 

“Either or. Your choice. Or both, if you want to be generous.”

Daryl laughed.

“Truth is—I don’t know…I never actually kept count. I’m guessin’ sex…maybe fifteen?” He saw Carol’s eyes bug slightly. “Shit—is that bad?”

“I’m not judging,” Carol assured him.

“Maybe fifteen. Give or take. But I grew up with Merle and…you just gotta know Merle. He’s a connoisseur of pussy. So, when I was growin’ up, I guess for a while I thought that what was right for Merle had to be right for me, you know?” Carol nodded. “As for—tryin’ for somethin’ more? I’d say three. There was a woman named Claudia. I live with her for about three months. Then there was—a woman named Allison. We didn’t live together. And it didn’t last more’n two weeks.”

“That’s only two,” Carol said. 

Daryl’s chest squeezed in response. 

“I don’t know the end of the third story yet,” Daryl offered. A faint smile played at Carol’s lips as she realized what he was saying. “What about you? How many?” 

“Sex? Or…more?”

“Your choice.”

“Do women count?” Carol asked with a laugh.

Daryl was a little surprised, and a touch amused, by the question.

“Anything you want to count, counts.”

Carol hummed.

“Four?”

“You don’t know?” Daryl asked with a laugh. “Shit—I ain’t judgin’.”

“Ed,” Carol said. “He was—my first. My longest relationship.” Daryl nodded. “And then—after Ed, something with a friend. A woman. Just sex and…honestly? Just—this is embarrassing.” 

Daryl laughed.

“Go ahead. I swear—judgement free zone, Carol. I ain’t here to judge you.” 

Her face was red.

“It was just about me. It wasn’t about her.” She raised her eyebrows and took a swallow of her beer. “My first orgasm with somebody, and not just with myself.” 

“You mean you didn’t never come with Ed?” Carol shook her head. “The whole damn time you was married?” Carol shook her head again, this time a little more dramatically. 

“No. I actually thought I couldn’t. I mean I could on my own, but…not with him. I thought maybe I couldn’t do it with someone else. Like—I was broken. Now I know it was that—I couldn’t ever relax with Ed. There was too much pressure. Too much worry. That’s kind of what led to the thing with the friend. She just—wanted to prove to me that I wasn’t broken.”

“And she was right.”

“She was right. But—it wasn’t anything serious.”

“One of your friends? Like your still-got-‘em friends? Carol—I don’t care. It ain’t like I’ma…throw nothin’ or freak out.” 

The strained expression on her face relaxed and she nodded. 

“Good,” Daryl said.

“Good?” Carol asked with a laugh. Daryl caught her smile and shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m glad you’re still friends. And—that you got friends that…I don’t know…want you to feel good. And want you to know that you ain’t broken. You’re fine. Who else?” 

“A guy I tried to date. Works at the hardware store uptown.” 

“I probably know him,” Daryl said. 

Carol frowned.

“I didn’t think about that.” 

“You still seein’ him?” 

“No.”

“So, what does it matter to me? Ain’t like I’ma be pissed about it. I told you about mine.” 

“I never really saw him regularly. It was more like—a date or two. Here or there. When I was just feeling…I don’t know. Anyway, I did have sex with him. Twice.”

“Your expression says it weren’t that good,” Daryl said with a laugh.

“I thought I was broken again,” Carol said with shrug. “Honestly—I did it twice just to be sure, but…it didn’t work out.” She watched him as she took a swallow of beer.

He cleared his throat. 

“I know it ain’t my turn, but…you didn’t seem so broken last weekend. Was that real or fake? You ain’t gonna hurt my feelings. Because it felt real, but…”

Carol smiled to herself. 

“Real,” she said. “Very, very real.” She sucked in a breath, clearly held it for a second, and let it out in a rush of air. “I’m not just kissing your ass, but…you made me feel good.”

“You mean—like the sex was good?” 

“I mean the sex was good,” Carol said. “The—feeling was good. I don’t know how to explain it. Please don’t make me try because I just don’t know how. I only know—I felt good.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Daryl said. “But—for the record? If you ever…don’t feel good or…you think somethin’s broken again? It’s the same as the sayin’ no, Carol. I prefer honesty, even if it stings. I’d rather you just tell me. Hell—maybe then I can fix whatever’s broke.” 

Carol smiled to herself and nodded. 

“OK,” she said. “Your turn.” 

“Yours,” Daryl said. “I just went. I’ma take truth.” 

“I don’t think you went. I think we just—accidentally slipped into conversation.”

“Don’t matter. You go. Truth.” 

“OK,” Carol said. “So—fifteen women, huh?” Daryl nodded, feeling his face burn warm. 

“Give or take.”

“Do you have—a favorite…thing…you like to do?” 

“You mean like—a position or like a kink or…?” 

“Either.” 

“Fuck,” Daryl teased. “Mighta been better goin’ with strip poker. Woulda took me longer to get hard.” Carol laughed.

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize.”

“You want me to ask something else?” 

“No—‘cause I’m already thinkin’ of shit I’ma ask. Alright—I gotta be honest…”

“I wouldn’t expect anything different.”

“If it’s just—a fuck? Like—when I thought I had to be Merle about shit? Always the same. Always doggy. Minimal contact.” 

“You like that?” 

“I didn’t always like what I was doing,” Daryl said. “Just felt like—I oughta do it. Like it would somehow be the way or some shit like that. I’d get all the answers I needed and things would fall into place, I guess…shit…I’ve been a dumbass.”

Carol smiled at him.

“It seems like you’re past that,” she said.

“I don’t mind that position, but…like…with you?” Daryl cleared his throat. “I might be boring.”

“I didn’t think you were boring,” Carol said.

“I liked missionary,” Daryl said. “And I really liked you on top of me like you were Saturday morning. But—I like seein’ your face.” 

The face in question blushed with color. 

“I like seeing your face, too,” Carol said. “Your turn. Truth.” 

“Hell—as long as I’m torturing myself,” Daryl teased. “You read these books. Which—by the way—right now I’m on the one you give me where they were high school sweethearts, and I’m really likin’ this one. But—you read these books chocked full of your cheesy porn. You—uh—got some kind of favorite fantasy or kink or whatever that’s come from readin’ them?” 

“I really don’t—have that kind of experience,” Carol said. “I prefer not to think about most of…what I’ve done in the past.”

Daryl nodded.

“Fine, I get that. What about—a fantasy then? Maybe you ain’t done it, but…you’d like to.” 

“Mmmm…I have a few,” Carol said. “A lot. But—just to pick one…I think one would be…to play.” 

“To play?” Daryl asked, laughing in his throat at the absurd visions that drifted through his mind. Carol looked a little embarrassed and he felt sorry for laughing at her. He reached a hand over and patted her thigh. Then he massaged the muscle with his fingers. “Hey—I wanna…know what you mean. Play…what? You mean like games?” 

“Like games,” Carol said. “Like—OK—to just…play. To have fun. Like—there are toys and things you can buy. The only toy I have is a vibrator.” 

“You have a vibrator?” Daryl asked.

“That’s a lie, actually. I have two,” Carol said.

Daryl swallowed back his amusement. 

“You got a collection,” Daryl said.

“Well—one’s a…” Carol stopped. “Do you really want to hear this?” 

“Oh—I absolutely wanna hear this,” Daryl assured her. “Go on. You an’ your vibrators got my full fuckin’ attention. I promise you that.” 

She was so beautiful when her face flushed with embarrassment. But there was something else there, too, beyond the embarrassment. She looked younger. She looked lighter. She was enjoying this, and it was evident as it practically shone on her skin.

“One is small. Just…for…stimulation. The other is—more for…simulating the full act.” 

Daryl ignored, as best he could, his whole body’s reaction to Carol’s words. She looked embarrassed, and he almost welcomed the distraction. He laughed to himself. 

“What? You want me to embarrass myself or somethin’? Make you feel better? Hell—I normally just use my hands. Lube if I got it, so…I’m a lil’ bit fascinated by the fact that you got accessories.” 

She covered her face and laughed to herself. She drank the rest of the beer she was holding in almost one gulp.

“I mean hands work, too,” she offered, gaining some obvious fortification.

Daryl reached up toward the back of the couch, tugged down the throw that she had up there, and rested it obviously over his lap.

“OK,” he said. “Now—go ahead. You was tellin’ me that you got toys to play with, but…they ain’t what you want. So—what do you want?” 

Carol was laughing, openly, at his placement of the throw. Honestly, that’s what he’d intended, and he was glad it had the desired results. Her laughter was genuine. His erection was every bit as genuine, as well, but normally he wouldn’t have bothered to cover it. He would have figured that she would know it was there—especially with this kind of conversation and the overwhelming attraction that he felt for her—and there was no need to worry about hiding it. He wasn’t truly concerned about hiding it now, he’d only wanted to distract her, and to make her feel more at ease. 

It seemed to be working. She settled back into the couch, some of the tension clearly leaving her body. Daryl felt himself relax in response. 

“I have the toys but they’re just like…for me. I’ve only ever used them for what I needed them for. You know? But there are like—games, too.” She sighed. “Do you want to know this?” 

“Shit, yes!” Daryl said. “Yes—I wanna know all of it. That’s why I asked.” 

“Ed—it wasn’t nice with Ed. I didn’t have fun. I didn’t have a good time.” 

“That’s why you like the cheesy porn novels,” Daryl said. “Because you said they’re enjoyin’ it.” Carol hummed and nodded.

“I just think it would be nice to enjoy it all kinds of ways. I guess—I want to experience a lot of things that I’ve never experienced. But one of those things is just…having fun. Playing. Knowing that it’s…just safe, I guess.”

“That you can relax?” Daryl offered. 

Carol nodded. 

“Yeah,” she breathed out. “I guess so.” 

“I wanna make a—dare,” Daryl said. 

“OK,” Carol said with a smile creeping back across her lips.

“You accept it?” She looked nervous for a moment, so Daryl decided to reassure her. “It’s safe. An’ you can always say pass. Change your mind whenever you want.” 

“Go ahead,” she urged.

Daryl wet his dry mouth with water from the glass he’d poured for himself.

“I dare you to—play with me,” Daryl said. Her face was trapped somewhere between amusement and visible anxiety. “Not tonight—I meant what I said. But—we plan a game night. That kinda game night. Saturday, even, if you want. We go shoppin’, I can think of a place right now off the highway. Far enough we ain’t too likely to run into nobody so you don’t gotta be embarrassed. Pick out some shit. We make it a date—the whole thing. Whatta you say? You can pass if you want, but I dare you to trust me enough to…play with me.” 

She wasn’t smiling—not exactly. Her eyes were huge. She was breathing heavier and faster than before. Daryl gave her a reassuring smile in case she needed it. 

“You can pass if you want,” he reiterated.

“I don’t want to pass,” Carol said. 

“Good,” Daryl said. “Because I don’t want you to pass. But—I am gonna…have to use your bathroom to get through the rest of the game. And—then I’ma smoke a cigarette or two.” 

“You need a hand?” Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

“No,” he said. “But—if you of a mind on Friday, you let me know.” 

“Anticipation makes the fruit taste sweeter?” Carol teased.

“I’m bankin’ on it,” Daryl said. “Shit—I’ll be back. You can come smoke with me—after I’m done in the bathroom.” 

“We don’t have to play anymore,” Carol said. “Just so you know. Not if you don’t want to. I’m not sure we’re doing it right, anyway.” 

“I’m sure we’re doin’ it just right for us,” Daryl said, standing up. “Just—start thinkin’ about where we go from here. Maybe we change the subject.” 

Carol laughed.

“Sounds fair to me,” she said. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t you be sorry for shit. I’m havin’ a damned good time. Too good. That’s my biggest problem. Come smoke with me in a few minutes?”

“Just call me,” Carol said. “I’ll be here. Let me know if—you need anything.” 

“Trust me, you done plenty,” Daryl teased, his face was burning hot, but he was feeling entirely invigorated by the evening.


	35. Chapter 35

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. This finishes up Truth or Dare night, though you know that our couple have plenty more adventures to come. 

This is the second part that I’ve posted today, so please make sure you go back and read 34 before this one.

I hope that you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think! 

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol came outside with Daryl when he told her he was heading outside to smoke. He worried, honestly, that things might be awkward—that she might be uncomfortable or that she might make him feel uncomfortable. The worry couldn’t have been more unfounded.

Carol didn’t say anything about his obvious problem or earlier discomfort. She didn’t say anything about the fact that she had to have known exactly what he was doing, and who he was thinking about while doing it. She didn’t tease him at all. She treated it as though it were simply the most natural thing possible, and she had a perfectly relaxed conversation with Daryl about the fact that there weren’t any fireflies out and she missed seeing fireflies in abundance like she had when she was a little girl.

When Daryl had finished two cigarettes, they’d gone inside. Carol had excused herself to use the bathroom, and Daryl fixed more water for himself and put a fresh beer for Carol on the table. 

Her living room was cozy. It was warm—even though the temperature was actually comfortably cool. Daryl folded the throw once more, tossed it over the back of the couch, and had just settled in when Carol came back and took her spot.

“You go first?” She asked. 

“You do,” Daryl said. “You told me about how much you love fireflies. That counts for somethin’.” 

Carol smiled in response. 

“OK, then,” she said. “Then—tell me one of your favorite childhood memories.” 

“That’s kinda—rocky ground,” Daryl said. “I didn’t have what you might call a real cracker jack childhood.”

Carol frowned to herself.

“I know, but…I hope you have some good memories, at least,” Carol said. 

Daryl thought about it for a moment. He nodded his head.

“They’re more—here or there,” he said. “Pieces. But—I remember when I was…I musta been real small. Because my grandpa, Norman…that’s where the tattoo come from…he died when I was a little bitty thing. But I remember walking through the woods. In my head—I can see Merle. He was still kind of a kid and he’s ten years older than me, so…I know I wasn’t that old. And I remember we came out on this pond. I thought it was the biggest pond in the world. As big as the ocean. Anyway, my grandpa got us sittin’ on the bank and we sat there and we just fished. All day. And I remember we ate saltine crackers and Vienna sausages out the can for lunch.” Daryl laughed to himself. “Tell you the truth, I don’t remember if we caught anything.” 

“It didn’t matter,” Carol said. 

Daryl shook his head. 

“It didn’t matter,” Daryl said. “I was five when Grandpa died.”

“He sounds like a good man,” Carol said. 

“He was,” Daryl confirmed. “He was my Mama’s Daddy. I never knew my old man’s parents. Probably better that way. The only damn thing that coulda begot Satan was an even bigger devil, right?” 

“I’m sorry,” Carol said, leaning and rubbing her hand over his leg. There was sincerity in her apology—like she wanted him to know that she was sorry that the world was simply shit sometimes. He understood. He felt the same sense of sorrow for her sufferings.

“It’s OK,” Daryl said. “It was a good fishin’ trip. Whether or not we caught a damn thing. I haven’t been fishin’ since—I was a kid.” 

“Maybe we should go sometime,” Carol offered.

“You mean it?” 

“Yeah,” Carol said with a smile. “Why not? I even bait my own hook. But—I can’t get them off the hook. The fish. I can’t do it.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“I’ll get your fish off the hook for you,” Daryl said. “But—I’d like that. If you wanted to go with me.” 

“It’s a date,” Carol said with a smile.

“Your turn,” Daryl said. “Truth or dare?” 

“Truth,” Carol said.

“As long as tricky subjects come up,” Daryl said. “Why don’t you like to choose? There a story behind that?” 

Carol smiled to herself. She reached for her beer and tasted it. She turned, facing Daryl a little more in the couch. He reached for her leg, tugged it, and she let him have it. She spread it across his lap and he worked the muscle of her calf to entertain his fingers.

“There’s a lot of stories there,” Carol said. “But—mostly, I guess it’s that I never choose right. I don’t choose the right thing. The right restaurant or food. The right…way to spend time. And then, when everything goes wrong or…almost everything goes wrong? It’s all my fault. And I’ve ruined everything for everyone.” 

The weight of her words struck Daryl practically like being punched in the sternum.

“Shit,” he said. “There’s—a whole hell of a lot wrong with that way of thinkin’. And—I don’t guess I have to ask who the hell taught you to think that way. Still, I can understand why the hell you don’t wanna choose nothin’ with that much weight ridin’ on everything.” 

Carol laughed to herself. It wasn’t entirely sincere. Daryl worked his hands down to her foot. 

“My feet are dirty,” she protested.

Daryl laughed to himself.

“I don’t give a shit,” he said. “Listen—I won’t make you choose. Not if you don’t like it. But—if you ever wanna choose? You wanna just try it? I’ma promise you that you won’t ruin anything.” Carol nodded her head in response. It was really all the response that Daryl needed or expected. 

“Why do you like rubbing my feet?” Carol asked. 

“Waste of a question,” Daryl said with a laugh. “It’s—because I like touchin’ you. And—my hands like to have somethin’ to do. It’s the best of both worlds.” 

“Your turn,” Carol nudged.

“You said in the truck one night that—you wanted to be a wife. A certain kind of wife. You wanted children,” Daryl said. “Do you still want that?” 

Carol stared somewhat over Daryl’s shoulder. She nodded her head. 

“Very much,” she said. “It’s what I always wanted. I should’ve wanted bigger things, maybe, but…”

“I think we want what we want,” Daryl said. “Wantin’ to have your café, be a wife, and have a family—there ain’t no shame in wantin’ that, Carol. Ed didn’t—want children?”

Carol pursed her lips.

“Ed liked the idea of children,” Carol said. “Because other people had children, and that was the thing to do.”

“But?” 

“But the tricky thing about children is you have to take care of them, before they’re born,” Carol said. “And—you have to take care of their mother, to some degree, before they’re born.” She shook her head. “Ed wasn’t good at that. And once I figured that out, I started taking birth control, secretly, until I divorced him. Fool me twice…and all that.” 

Daryl’s stomach knotted, but he got the feeling that he was treading in very murky waters. He pulled back a little. 

“You don’t wanna talk about that right now?” He asked. “About—what happened?”

“No,” Carol admitted. “Not really. Not more than that. Pass.”

“That’s fine,” Daryl assured her. “You—still want ‘em? Children? Under…better circumstances?” 

She clearly thought about it a moment. 

“I wouldn’t be unhappy about it—not under better circumstances,” Carol said. “How about you?” 

Daryl’s stomach flip flopped.

“You talk about maybe you shoulda wanted bigger things, but…hell, you already heard what I want. It ain’t like I ever had no grand aspirations. Top of my whole list is to be happily married. But like—really happily fuckin’ married, you know?” Carol laughed and nodded her head. “I wouldn’t be unhappy if we had a family.”

Daryl’s eyes met Carol’s for a moment, and then he quickly asked a question to move the conversation forward.

“Where’s somewhere you’d like to go?” Daryl asked.

“Like on a trip?” 

“Like on a trip.”

Carol smiled to herself.

“The beach,” she said. “We talked about it before.” 

“We talked about—how you didn’t travel much. I love the beach. Mountains, too.” 

Carol hummed in agreement.

“To see the leaves change,” Carol said. “Or—snow.” 

“Or both,” Daryl said.

“Your turn or mine?” Carol asked. 

“I don’t remember,” Daryl said. “To be honest. You go.” 

“What’s your favorite way to spend an evening?” Carol asked. “Or—a weekend. To relax. Your favorite way to relax. What is it?” 

Daryl hummed.

“I don’t know. Gotta admit—this right here? I can’t think of shit I’ve liked better in a long damn time.” Carol smiled at him. 

“Am I—copying you too much if I say that I feel the same way?” Carol asked. 

“Copy me or not. I like hearin’ it.” 

“I like—the simple, you know? I do enjoy reading and…warm baths.”

“I like movies, too,” Daryl said. “But—not to be too pushy or anything, but all them things? We could do ‘em together, couldn’t we? It would suit me.” 

Carol laughed to herself.

“You’d take a bubble bath with me, Daryl?” She asked.

Daryl shrugged.

“If we could both fit,” he said. 

“I think—we could make it work,” Carol said. 

“Then I’d take a bubble bath with you,” Daryl offered. “Whenever you want. You tell me.” 

“But not tonight,” Carol said. 

Daryl laughed to himself and shook his head. 

“Not tonight,” he said. “Shit—I lost track again. I don’t know whose turn it is. Did you ask that one or did I?” 

Carol laughed and hummed to herself. Daryl reached for her other leg, and she didn’t fight him at all. She brought it into his lap and rearranged the couch pillow behind her to make herself more comfortable. 

“I don’t remember,” she said. “It doesn’t matter. What’s—something nice…what’s something you’d like to do?” 

“Besides all the shit I already told you?” Daryl asked.

Carol raised her eyebrows and nodded her head. 

“Besides everything you’ve already said. What’s something that you’d like to do? It can be silly or serious. It doesn’t matter either way. I won’t judge you.”

“OK,” Daryl said. “Gimme a second, now. I gotta think about it a second. I don’t got an answer prepared. If you know what you would do, though, you can go ahead.” 

“It’s your question,” Carol said. 

“And I’ma just volley it right on back to you, so if you got something…”

“I’d like to go dancing,” Carol said. 

“Dancing?” 

“Dancing,” Carol said. “I’ve never been dancing. I’d like to go dancing. Your turn,” she said, shaking her foot a little to nudge Daryl. 

“I’d like to take you dancing,” he said. “Even though—I don’t have a fuckin’ clue how to dance.” 

Carol laughed.

“Now that’s cheating,” she said. “Come on—what’s something you’d like to do?” 

“I don’t know,” Daryl said. “For real—I don’t wanna do that much stuff that I ain’t already said. I mean—I just don’t really have all that much. And like, what I wanna do is more like spontaneous. Like you say you wanna dance, and my brain’s like…hell, me too.” 

Carol laughed. 

“OK—I’ll give you a pass,” she said. “You can have a pass for that one.” 

“I answered it,” Daryl said. “And the more I think about it, the more I like the answer. You wanna go dancin’ somewhere in particular?” 

“No,” Carol said. “Forget I said it, really.”

“Don’t be like that,” Daryl said.

“It’s silly. You already said you don’t dance.” 

“I said I don’t know how to dance,” Daryl said. “But hell—I’ve been embarrassed before. I don’t give two shits about bein’ embarrassed again. Not for somethin’ like that.” 

“I wouldn’t care where,” Carol said. “I just think it would be romantic. That’s all.” 

Daryl smiled to himself.

“Done,” he said. “We’ll go dancin’.” He shook his head at her when he saw her expression. She was already worrying that he would hate it and it would ruin his entire life. And, by extension, something in her gut told her that he would ruin hers in retaliation. Ed was an asshole, and Daryl didn’t like knowing him—because he felt like he did know him—but he looked forward to doing his best to grind Ed’s memory with his heel, at least. “My turn…what’s the worst decision you ever made?” 

“Too easy,” Carol said. “Marrying Ed. I thought it was the best at the time but—it’s true what they say. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.” 

“I don’t really have too many regrets,” Daryl admitted. “Part of—my therapy things was workin’ on makin’ peace with the past, you know? Just—not forgetting it, but just kinda…givin’ yourself some grace and recognizing that shit’s done. I don’t know. Anyway, I did all the steps and all. I can’t say that it got rid of everything. I mean—for sure it didn’t. But it did do one thing, and that’s that…I don’t regret a lot of shit. It just is what it is. But—I do, I guess, kind of regret a couple of the tattoos I got. Little ones here or there that were mostly just me bein’ stupid when a buddy got a tattoo gun. Does that count?” 

“Anything counts that you want to count,” Carol said. She looked relaxed. She was nursing her beer. She’d stopped protesting Daryl’s working of her muscles. She seemed to be enjoying it. He could feel her relaxation, and he was practically relaxing himself as it flowed into him through his hands.

“Your turn,” Daryl said.

She hummed.

“We did worst decision, so…best decision?” Carol asked. 

Daryl smiled to himself. His heart pounded so wildly that he wondered if she could hear it or sense it. It didn’t matter. Not right then. Nothing ventured, nothing gained—and he was already choking back a veritable wall of thoughts that were skittering around in his mind when he looked at her, as she was, and wanted to tell her that, if he could go back a couple of questions, he knew what he wanted to do. What he wanted to do was simple—he wanted to keep looking at her, just like she looked right now, for the rest of the foreseeable future. 

He didn’t say that, though. Instead, he gathered up his courage for his answer to the question at hand.

“Goin’ to Salty’s a few Fridays ago,” Daryl offered.

Carol stared at him. Her cheeks ran pink. She smiled softly to herself. She didn’t tense. She didn’t kick him away. She didn’t ask him to leave.

“You?” He dared to ask.

The smile grew for a second, and she swallowed some of it back. 

“Calling a number that…got left on my fridge,” Carol said. Daryl felt his heart nearly skid to a stop before it began something like the Cha Cha Cha. 

“That’s cheating,” Daryl said. “But—I’ma let you have it. Truth—Carol. You asked me if Agnes was my girlfriend. And I told you she weren’t. Do you—got a boyfriend under wraps?” 

Carol smiled to herself. She picked at the label on her beer. Then she looked at Daryl again.

“No,” she said. “There’s a guy I like, but…he’s never asked me to be his girlfriend.” 

Daryl ignored the screaming in his mind. He ignored the sound of his blood rushing by his ears. He ignored his slightly labored breathing.

“He’s an idiot,” Daryl said.

“No,” Carol protested, drawing out the word. “Not at all. I have a dare for you, Daryl.” 

Daryl nodded.

“Go ahead,” he said.

Carol smiled. She raised her eyebrows at him.

“Will you be my boyfriend?” She asked. 

“Couldn’t think of a damn thing I want more,” Daryl said. “And that’s the truth.” 

Carol blew out her breath. Clearly, she’d drawn it in to hold it while she waited for his response. He found it interesting that she’d clearly thought there might be a chance that he’d say no. He knew there hadn’t been any chance at all of his refusing the proposal. He responded to her release of breath by working his way up her leg again, kneading the muscles of her calf. 

“I got a dare for you, too, Carol,” Daryl said, as soon as he felt some of tension leaving her muscle. 

“What is it?” Carol asked.

“Go away with me.” 

“What?” 

“On a trip. I’ll plan it. You don’t got to. We’ll take a long weekend. Before the summer’s done or whatever. Go away with me.” 

“Where?” Carol asked. 

“Do it matter?” 

“No,” Carol said with only a bit of hesitation.

“Does that mean you’ll do it?” 

“When?” Carol asked. “I have the café. I can’t leave without giving Jacqui notice.” 

“Then you tell me,” Daryl said. “Hell—Ty’ll let me go. It ain’t no problem. Does that mean you’ll go with me?” 

“Yes—I’ll go with you.” 

Daryl smiled and relaxed back into his position. 

“Good,” Daryl said. “Then—you just tell me when, and you don’t worry about the rest.”


	36. Chapter 36

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Carol stood and examined herself in the mirror. She smoothed her dress down. She admired the fit. She swung her hips, purposefully sending the dress swishing from side-to-side. She couldn’t help but smile at the movement of the light fabric. The dress wasn’t truly vintage, but it looked vintage. It was the most precious blue A-line dress with small white flowers all over it that Carol had ever seen. It was entirely impractical, and a little bit out of place. It was ridiculous, and it had been the very first dress that Carol had bought herself when her divorce had been final. 

Ed would have hated it. He would have said she wasted her money—which she probably had—and he would have said she looked ridiculous—which she probably did.

But she loved it. 

Unfortunately, the dress had never been out of the house except for on two different occasions when the Glory Gals had planned retro-themed parties. Carol got the distinct feeling that they tried, from time to time, to plan a retro-themed party simply to give her an excuse to wear her dress since she loved it so much but felt silly slipping into it to simply go and buy groceries.

She had another A-line that was similar. It was white and pink and a little more understated. She’d worn it a time or two, feeling a little more inconspicuous. She loved it, too, but not as much as the blue one.

Carol had expected Daryl to call her to tell her what time to be ready for him to pick her up for dinner—it was Friday night, after all, and she’d known to expect the date—but it had been odd that he’d requested she dress for the meal and that, in particular, she dress in something vintage from the fifties or sixties. She’d pressed him a little for information, but he’d said he didn’t want to tell her anything, and she didn’t want to press too much.

She was excited, though, simply for the excuse to wear the blue dress with white flowers that made her feel so incredibly feminine that it was almost overwhelming. Carol had just finished touching up her makeup and dabbing on her cologne when she heard the knock at the door—Daryl didn’t like using the doorbell because he didn’t care for the sound.

Carol scolded herself, internally, when she smiled over nothing more than the sound of a doorbell and practically skipped to the door. She threw it open. Daryl was standing on her porch, smiling at her the moment she stepped out on the porch.

“You look—amazing,” he offered. 

Carol smiled at him, over her shoulder, as she locked the door and slipped the keys into her purse.

“You look pretty handsome, yourself,” she offered. He was wearing jeans and a pastel yellow button-down shirt, his practical uniform for dates. Carol couldn’t complain, though, he looked good in the outfit that he clearly found comfortable and reliable, and he must have had a veritable rainbow of shirts in his closet for any occasion. Daryl requested a kiss, and she obliged him, nipping at his lip as she pulled away. 

“You feelin’ alright?” He teased.

“I’m curious about what’s going on,” Carol said. 

“We’re goin’ to dinner,” Daryl said. “I didn’t figure it was a big secret. I been talkin’ about it for a while. Gotta eat after work.” 

Carol laughed to herself. Her face ached already, and it was sure to be a long night, but she was growing accustomed to the sensation of having smiled too much in Daryl’s presence. Admittedly, the smiling she did in Daryl’s presence had started to bleed into moments of absence, as well. All it took was a text or a certain mention, and Carol caught herself acting like she was a teenager instead of a mature woman.

“You ready?” Daryl asked. He offered Carol an arm and she hooked her arm through his. Until that moment, she hadn’t really noticed anything except Daryl. She’d been entirely focused on him. It was only, stepping down off the porch steps, that she realized his truck wasn’t parked in her driveway, beside her car, where he’d taken to parking it now, she thought, as a sign that he was feeling a little more like he belonged than before. His truck was also not parked against the curb, where he’d once parked it. Instead, against the curb, there was a cream-colored convertible. 

“What’s that?” Carol asked.

“This,” Daryl said, as they reached the car and he opened the passenger side door for her, “is a 1957 Thunderbird.” Carol got in the car when Daryl gestured that she should, and he closed the door when he was satisfied that she was inside. He walked around the front of the car quickly and let himself into the driver’s side. “You need help with the buckles?” 

“No,” Carol said. “I’ve got it.” 

Daryl put his own seatbelt on and cranked the car. Carol watched him drive as he pulled away from the curb. 

“You can sit back,” he said with a laugh. “Relax.” 

“Where did you get this?” Carol asked. “Is this yours?” 

“No…no…it ain’t mine,” he said. “Belongs to a buddy of mine. It’s his baby. Like Cinderella’s pumpkin, this baby’s due back by midnight. Promised we’d bring it by and pick up my truck when we were comin’ back from dinner. Sorry.” 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Carol said. “I just—don’t understand.” 

“I just thought you might like the car,” Daryl said. “Thought you might like to ride in it with me…that’s all.” 

Carol sat back in her seat. She closed her eyes, enjoying the rush of the wind. 

“I do like riding in it with you,” she offered.

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The restaurant was in a town that was about an hour away from Living Springs. It was the most adorable little diner that Carol had ever seen. It had the checkerboard floors, the themed art, the retro booths, and a row of styled bar stools at a long counter. There was a large, garish jukebox in the corner, and every last member of the waitstaff was dressed like they’d come straight out of a fifties themed movie.

It was the stupidest thing in the world to feel so emotional about, but Carol had nearly cried when Daryl had hooked his arm through hers and led her through the door to find a booth that he liked—one that gave them a little privacy.

They ordered burgers and shakes—the specialties there—and Daryl flicked through the tiny booklet on the table that listed all the era’s best music that was available on the jukebox.

He looked at Carol out the corner of his eye, blushed red, and laughed to himself.

“What?” He asked. “Why you lookin’ at me like that?” 

“Because of this,” Carol said. 

“You like it?” Daryl asked. “Hey—why you look so sad?” 

“I’m not sad,” Carol said.

“You look like you’re gonna cry,” Daryl said, abandoning his booklet and sitting up with an expression of panic. Carol quickly plucked a few napkins from the dispenser and dabbed at her eyes, doing her best to catch any stray tears before they had a chance of ruining her makeup entirely.

“It’s not that kind of crying,” Carol said. “It’s not sad crying.” 

“I’m not too familiar with any other kind,” Daryl said. Carol laughed to herself.

“The restaurant, the car…you asked me to wear my dress…why?” 

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

“You like it, don’t you?” 

“I love it!” Carol said.

“Then that’s why,” Daryl said. “Hell—just—just that. Just because you like it.” 

“It’s too nice,” Carol said. “It’s too much.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“It’s just a burger joint, really,” Daryl said. “And the car—hell, Crumb’s got about four old cars. He lets people borrow ‘em all the time. Proms and weddings…just about anything. Says it’s good for ‘em to get out and get a little exercise every now and again. He was happy to let us take her out. Please don’t cry. Even if you say it’s happy—I’m not gonna lie, you can say it’s happy, but it just confuses the hell outta me. Like my brain can’t handle that.” 

Carol laughed to herself, and Daryl echoed it. 

She stopped, her blood running almost cold, at the words that her brain had offered her to say to him—words that it was far too soon to say. Words that terrified her. But, for just one instant, and in light of everything he’d done and what he’d just said, her brain had thought them perfect.

“It’s perfect,” she said, settling on that instead. “You’re perfect.” 

Daryl smiled to himself.

“Now you’re just—givin’ me hell.” 

“No,” Carol assured him, shaking her head. “I’m not.”

“You know I can’t lie,” Daryl said. “I mean—I can—but I’m not real good at it, and I don’t like it. So, I can’t take all the credit for this.” He stopped talking long enough to thank the waitress that brought their milkshakes—chocolate for Carol and strawberry for Daryl. As soon as she left, he started speaking again. “I can’t take credit for everything. It weren’t my idea—at least not all of it. I talked to Andrea. I asked her—you know—what was some things I ought to know about you or…what was some things you liked.”

“And she told you this?” Carol asked.

“Not this exactly,” Daryl said. “She said you had a real thing for the fifties and sixties, but the fifties in particular. Said you loved the whole aesthetic. She told me you even had a couple dresses and you wear ‘em every chance you get to parties and things.” 

Carol felt her face grow warm.

“She didn’t lie to you.” 

Daryl nodded.

“So, as soon as she told me that, I thought about this place. I stopped here once when I was comin’ back from a huntin’ trip with Merle. It was just a thing that we pulled in here, but I never forgot it. You know? I thought there was somethin’ kinda magical about it. Bein’ drawn back in time or something. Anyway—I’m kind of a nerd like that. I like goin’ places where you can sort of pretend you’re someplace else…or, I guess…sometime else, as the case may be.”

“I like that, too,” Carol said. “Very much.”

“So, when I heard you liked the fifties,” Daryl said, starting to pick at the little booklet of songs, “I thought you’d like to come here. I remembered—your dress that she told me about. Thought you might wanna wear it.” He smiled at her. “It’s a pretty dress, for the record. And you look real pretty. If I was you—I’d wear it more often.” 

“You like the style?” Carol asked. Daryl nodded. 

“Looks good on you.” 

“You don’t think—I look ridiculous?” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Not at all,” he said. 

“But it’s a little old-fashioned,” Carol said. Daryl shrugged his shoulders. 

“Maybe I’m old-fashioned,” he offered. “I like it. Besides—I don’t know that much about fashion. Personally? I just see—a pretty woman in a pretty dress.” 

Carol felt her face run warm. Other parts of her, too, woke up and ached in response to Daryl’s words. They were simple words, really. They were casually and sincerely offered. And everything, at that moment, in Carol yearned to repay back such a sincere kindness in every way she possibly could.

She was glad that Daryl couldn’t read her mind. There would be time, later, to tell him exactly what had flashed through her mind.

“Ed never would’ve brought me somewhere like this,” Carol said. “He would have said—it was ridiculous. That I looked ridiculous, and he felt ridiculous. And the whole thing was just…”

“Ridiculous,” Daryl offered. Carol nodded. Daryl mirrored her nod. “But—I’m not Ed. And—I may be wrong, but I don’t recall callin’ a single thing you ever told me about yourself ridiculous.” 

“No,” Carol said. “You’re not like Ed. And—you haven’t insulted anything about me. You’ve been nothing but…wonderful.” 

“I don’t know about all that,” Daryl offered. “But—my point is…let’s forget about Ed. The way I see it—he don’t even exist right now. This ain’t his world.” 

“No?” Carol asked, smiling to herself at Daryl’s expression. 

He hummed and shook his head. He laughed to himself and flicked absentmindedly through the pages of the little book that gave his fingers something to do.

“No. Because—I don’t even know him. All I know is—it’s 1957 and…I’m takin’ my best girl, Carol, out for a burger and fries.”

Carol smiled at him. He raised his eyebrows at her.

“Your best girl?” She asked. 

“You ain’t?” Daryl asked. 

“I can’t—think of anything else I’d rather be right now,” Carol offered. “Tell me—if I’m your best girl, what does that make you?” 

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

“Can I just be your boyfriend? I’m still kind of likin’ that.”

Carol slid her hand across the table and wrapped her fingers around Daryl’s. He squeezed her fingers in his. 

“Of course you can be my boyfriend,” Carol said. 

Daryl cleared his throat and smirked.

“Gotta be honest,” he said. “I’m not entirely innocent in all this. I don’t wanna be pushy or anything, but I gotta admit that I’m hoping that there’s at least a little sugar in it for me, tonight.” 

Carol smiled at him.

“I wasn’t the one who said no the past two nights we were together,” Carol offered.

“I’m—not sayin’ no tonight,” Daryl said. 

“Neither am I.”


	37. Chapter 37

AN: Here we are, another chapter here of another weekend for our little love birds.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl sighed a contented sigh and kissed Carol’s shoulder. She closed her eyes and hummed to herself, satisfied at the tender touch. He moved his hand, and traced his fingers down her neck and across her collarbone. 

They’d already had sex—the kind of sex that was hungry and barely let them get in the door good before everyone was trying desperately to get out of their clothes. The kind of sex that had been so urgent that the attempt to get to the bedroom had resulted in laughter as Carol tripped and fell out of her shoe and Daryl grabbed her, just in time to keep her from slamming down on her hands and knees just outside the bedroom door. The kind of sex that had Daryl buried deep inside her before Carol could ever come entirely out of her dress.

It had been the kind of nearly electric and entirely desperate sex that Carol had read about, but had never actually experienced.

She’d never felt desperate to feel a man touching her before. She’d never felt practically hungry to feel him inside her.

She’d always assumed it was her—there was something wrong with her. Now she was accepting that, just maybe, it had always been that she’d never found the man could make her feel that way.

The initial frenzy out of the way, and the sharpest hunger pains satiated enough for the moment, both Carol and Daryl were stripped of every thread that they’d haphazardly worn while achieving their orgasms, and they’d only bothered to re-dress, temporarily, in what they wore on a short trip to the back porch for Daryl to smoke—clothing which had been lost again upon their return to the bedroom. Each of them had taken a trip to the bathroom. Daryl had gotten a glass of water for them to share. 

Now they were lounging, naked, in the bed together. Both of them were sure that there would be more sex, but it was up to biology to decide when that might actually occur, and if it would occur before the urge to sleep was too great.

Carol had accepted that Daryl was a man whose hands simply needed to be entertained at all times. He had to be doing something. She was beginning to believe, too, that much of what he did to busy his hands was simply done in an absentminded manner.

She bit her lip when he rolled her nipple between his finger and thumb and rubbed his thumb repeatedly over the sensitive skin there like it was a worry stone. He repeated the action with the other nipple without request or any kind of show. 

“Why the fifties?” He asked. 

“Mmmmm?” She hummed at him.

His hands left off toying with her nipple and glided down over her ribcage. His fingers pressed gently, here and there, massaging as they went.

“You like the whole—fifties aesthetic. I mean, I get it, but…why? Specifically? Why the fifties?”

Now that his fingers were rubbing her—massaging her skin—Carol felt his touch relaxing rather than stimulating. She relaxed into the mattress, entirely content to let him manipulate her body however he might please.

“I’ve always liked it,” Carol said. “I think ever since I was a little girl. I like the clothes. The cars, of course. The music. I like—the aesthetic. How it’s always represented in the movies, and television, and…even in some of my books. I’ve bought every book I can find with that setting. It’s always represented as just—so simple. Easy. Everyone looks so happy in the movies.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Daryl said, “but don’t they always look happy because half the time those movies are things like musicals and the shows are like—I don’t know—like Happy Days and Andy Griffith and shit?” 

“I didn’t say it was realistic,” Carol said. “It’s an aesthetic. An ideal. A dream, maybe. You can like a dream, can’t you? Something imaginary…not entirely imaginary, I mean…but…”

“You can like whatever you want,” Daryl said, his hand slowly continuing its methodical search of Carol’s body. “But—that’s the only reason you like it? Because it’s simple and people are happy?” 

Carol laughed to herself. 

“Yeah—I guess—to some degree, that’s it. I always liked the whole idea of being the—you know—the housewife. The homemaker. The Leave it to Beaver or whatever kind of mother and wife.”

Daryl’s fingers turned at the bottom of her rib cage. They slid easily over her bellybutton. They massaged her abdomen and slipped over her hip bones to move around and hug her hip. Daryl kissed her shoulder again. 

“You were a housewife before,” Daryl said, practically mumbling the words into her shoulder. “You didn’t like it.” 

“No,” Carol said. “Because I was a bad housewife. Now I get paid to cook for people and serve them. And they appreciate what I do.”

“Don’t mean you were a bad housewife,” Daryl said. “Just because you weren’t appreciated, that don’t come back on you.” 

His hand came back over her thigh. It trailed now between her legs. His fingers paused only a second to silently beg access, and Carol parted her legs. She closed her eyes as his fingertips found her clit and worked it in lazy circles—as though he were doing nothing more than passing the time and entertaining himself as he slowly and gently massaged her. 

Carol reached her hand back and grabbed the pillow, needing something to hold onto as her mind accepted that this torture—this delicious, wonderful, mind-blowing torture—was just going to keep going on so that she hung at a certain point with her mind buzzing with pleasure. At the periphery of her mind, she was aware of Daryl kissing her shoulder and her neck—nibbling and sucking her earlobe to entertain his mouth as surely as he was entertaining his hand.

“You wouldn’t wanna stop workin’ at your café, would you?” Daryl asked. “I mean—just…you woudn’t wanna give it up, would you?” 

“No,” Carol said. “No—I love it. But I still wouldn’t mind…” She paused a moment. Hesitated. She knew what she wanted to say, but she was also struggling with whether or not she should actually say it. On top of everything, her body was on an edge where Daryl’s touch was keeping her and, though it was wonderful, it had her wondering if she was thinking clearly. “If…things…happened,” Carol said, “I still wouldn’t mind having some…piece of…of that life. I would still want what I wanted. I would want to be a good wife. If I could.”

“You’d be a good one.”

Daryl slid his hand down and one finger stroked Carol. She didn’t realize, after the buildup, how much she wanted that—how much she wanted him to touch her more. She spread her legs a little more as a silent urging. He responded by continuing to stroke her. He dipped a finger into her and stroked her from inside. Another followed. His thumb took over the earlier harassment.

Daryl bit her shoulder gently. He raised up and kissed her. Carol tasted his mouth. She moaned into his mouth. She rode his hand, seeking out everything he was trying to give her—everything he wanted to give her. Daryl panted at her, a sound like a whine escaping him. Then he leaned close to her ear.

“What’cha want?” He asked. “Tell me what’cha need.” 

The slightest flash of embarrassment sparked in Carol’s mind as she realized that she hardly needed more than that. The sound of him simply asking her what she wanted and needed was enough to get her to let go and to allow all the knots that tied her back to unravel.

“Faster,” she managed to offer. “Harder.” 

He obliged. 

Instead of complaining that she was inconveniencing him, he obliged. Instead of griping that she took too long or had too many demands, he obliged. Instead of thinking that she should simply, magically, find her release without any particularly directed help from him, he obliged. Instead of telling her that there was something wrong with her, and she wasn’t like any other woman in the world, he obliged.

And for a moment, Carol might as well have left the entire world behind because everything that had been building reached its sweet release. When she relaxed from her orgasm, Daryl was kissing her lips with soft kisses—stealing her panted breath. 

He smiled at her, and gave her one more soft kiss before he got up from the bed. Carol rolled on her side and watched him make his way to the bathroom. She watched him, too, when he returned.

“I’ma smoke a cigarette,” he said, stepping into his underwear. “You wanna come with me?” 

“Yeah,” Carol breathed out. “Let me just…”

She moved to get up and her thighs brushed her enough to send a jolt through her body. She was sensitive and she jumped at the unexpected sensation. Daryl laughed quietly and tossed the nightgown at her that she’d fished out the last time she’d padded behind him to the porch.

“Thank you,” Carol said, tugging it on. She moved to the edge of the bed and got up. “And—thank you for…that.” 

Daryl’s face blushed red. He reached for his cigarettes and lighter that were on the bedside table. 

“Don’t ever thank me for that,” Daryl said. “But—Carol?” 

She hummed at him, following him out of the bedroom. She couldn’t help but notice that he was already walking as naturally through her home as if it were his own.

“You ain’t broke. OK? Everything you got? Works just fine—hell, better…maybe. So—no matter what happens or…whatever? Don’t let nobody tell you that’cha broke or make you think that, OK? Because there ain’t a damn thing broke about you.” 

Carol felt an odd pang in her stomach. She felt the weight of loneliness—like a loss just realized.

She followed Daryl out on the porch and, this time, she accepted the cigarette that he offered her and she thanked him quietly for the light. She stood, instead of sitting, and he followed suit.

It shouldn’t strike her that he would wonder what would happen or how many other men might enter into her life to tell her that she was incapable of achieving orgasm with a partner—as she’d believed for so long. It shouldn’t strike her that he’d believe that there was, at the very least, some chance for impermanence in this relationship.

This was new. They were only just dating. Neither of them had any reason to believe that this would last any longer than the summer.

His words shouldn’t have weighed in her belly like they did.

“Daryl—the same goes for you,” Carol said.

“What?” Daryl asked. 

Carol realized he wasn’t privy to her thoughts, and some time had actually passed since he’d spoken.

“Whatever happens. If you should—if there were someone else? Don’t ever…let her tell you that you’re not good enough for her. Because—if anything? It would be that she wasn’t good enough for you.” 

Daryl was quiet for a moment. He stood in front of her. It was dark, but not so dark that she couldn’t see him. The neighbor’s porch light was on, and it illuminated enough of Carol’s yard that she rarely felt the need to use her own porch light.

“You mean that?” Daryl asked.

Carol smiled to herself. 

“You don’t like lies,” Carol said. “So, I try not to say anything to you that’s not the truth.” 

Daryl nodded his head. 

“In that case,” he said, “then—I guess…maybe I don’t have too much to worry about.”

“What do you mean?” Carol asked.

“I know you’re plenty good enough for me,” Daryl offered.

Carol felt her heart flutter in her chest, and the lead weight that Daryl’s earlier words had planted in her belly seemed to roll over a couple of times.

The words were a little scary. The possibility behind them could be frightening if she looked at it straight on and thought about it too much.

But, despite all that, there was an odd undercurrent of calm and tranquility that came with the thoughts that currently buzzed around in her brain.

“Daryl…”

“Mmmm?” 

“You are staying the night, aren’t you?” 

Daryl laughed quietly to himself. 

“If you want me to,” he said. 

“And tomorrow night since…we have plans tomorrow?” 

Daryl hummed.

“I got no place I’d rather be.”


	38. Chapter 38

AN: Here we are, a little shopping trip for our couple.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl parked the truck in the parking lot outside of the store. 

The place was like a sex warehouse, as far as he could tell. It advertised having everything under the sun, and there were large billboards for it on the highway. He had never actually stopped there, but he’d looked at it, as he drove by, with a great deal of curiosity. He’d always said that, one day, he was going to go inside for no other reason than to see what was in there.

It seemed that, today, he was finally going to see the inside of the place.

They had decided to come early—when fewer people would be likely to be there, they reasoned, not that Daryl imagined the place ever got too packed—and Daryl was still swimming in something of a haze of happiness brought on from the already perfect morning they’d shared together. 

Carol had woken him up with a smile, sweet kisses, and the offer that, though she didn’t really feel like morning sex—the first proof that she was accepting that she could voice not wanting something—she could take care of a few of his needs. She had worried, out loud with him, that she was lacking in the required skills to do it well, but she insisted that she wanted to try. Daryl was more than happy to oblige her, and he had promised her that, if she were truly lacking in skills, he hadn’t missed them at all.

Daryl had never imagined that a woman could be so happy over praise from giving a blow job, but she’d invited him to shower with her—just to shower—and she’d smiled at him nearly the whole time. He’d even caught her smiling when she thought he wasn’t looking.

She’d made breakfast, and he’d made the bed when she refused to let him help her cook. They’d eaten a king’s meal of nearly every breakfast food that Daryl could imagine, and he would have been satisfied to spend the rest of the day napping the meal off on the couch with her, but he’d promised her this—and he wasn’t going back on that promise.

Still, she looked a little pale sitting next to him in the parking lot.

“You ready?” He asked.

She looked at him, bug-eyed. He swallowed back his amusement.

“We don’t gotta go in, you know,” he offered. “If you don’t wanna do it, I won’t make you. We’ll go—wherever you want. Back to your place or…we could go…buy some books or…something. Anything you want.” 

Carol relaxed a little and smiled to herself.

“I’d like to go book shopping with you,” she said.

“You’d rather do that?” Daryl asked. “I mean—we could do both. We could—do this now and do that another day.” 

Carol smiled to herself. She relaxed a little more.

“Always another day,” she said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

“I hope so,” he offered. “At least—I’m gonna want that. Another day. Hey—listen. You said you wanna do this, but I won’t drag you.”

“I want you to look, too,” Carol said. “Not just me.” 

Daryl laughed.

“Well I’m not goin’ in there to hold your purse or whatever.” 

“What if you don’t like what I pick out?” 

Daryl shrugged. 

“I’m gonna like whatever you pick out,” he said. “Or—at least—I’ma try whatever you pick out. I kinda figured this is like the buy what’cha wanna try thing here, and we’ll talk about the what we like stuff later. When we try it. I mean—maybe you don’t like everything I pick out. Maybe I don’t. That’s what we figure out later, right?”

“OK,” Carol said.

“OK? You ready?” 

Carol nodded and opened the truck door as proof of her desire to go inside. Daryl got out and followed her. He opened the door to the store and held it for her to pass inside. There were no windows, and the door was covered over in something like paper or plastic that made it impossible to see inside. The “Open” sign on the door was the only thing that made it evident that the seemingly dark place wasn’t closed.

Inside, they were alone except for a woman flipping through a magazine behind the counter. She welcomed them without even looking at them, and informed them that they could ask for help if they needed any.

There were baskets, and Daryl snagged one of them, sure that they would leave with at least a few items.

The first area they passed had clothing. Daryl gestured toward it.

“Costumes,” he said. 

“You’re into that?” Carol asked.

“I might be.”

Carol smiled at him. Her cheeks were blushed pink, and he imagined that they would both get through much of this adventure with a semi-permanent blush.

“If you find something you like, let me know,” Carol said.

Daryl nodded. 

“We’ll come back to it,” he offered. 

The next stop around was an overwhelming collection of DVDs. Daryl thought the selection might have rivalled Blockbuster. Both he and Carol, standing shoulder to shoulder, skimmed through a couple of titles. 

“You’re not a fan of porn,” Daryl said, recalling earlier conversations. 

“Some of these look like—movies,” Carol said. “Not like—what Ed made me watch once. That was just like…hey you called for a plumber and then they’re having terrible sex and she clearly wasn’t enjoying it—I don’t care what she said.” 

Daryl snorted. Her face told him exactly what she thought of those terrible sex porn films.

“Even the ones pretendin’ to be movies are just as bad,” Daryl said. “Trust me—I live with Merle.” 

“Speaking of which,” Carol said, “I got a text from Andrea this morning. She’s staying over—seems like they might be making their own movies, among other things.” 

“I ain’t judging,” Daryl said. “We’ll come back to this—if we want it.” 

As they started to get a little more into the large selection of toys, Carol clearly tensed. Daryl squeezed her shoulder.

“Hey—you bought your other stuff, right?” 

“Actually—not in a place like this,” Carol said. “The little one—I got in a drug store. I bought it before Ed and I were divorced. He never would’ve let me come someplace like this. I just—picked it up when I was buying some other things.” 

“They sell that shit in drug stores?” 

“The little ones,” Carol said. 

“And the other?” Daryl asked.

“It was a—gift. From Andrea. When I first met her. After Ed. She joked that—every woman needs a little dick in her life…and she…you know…”

“Gave you a little dick,” Daryl supplied with amusement. Carol laughed to herself and covered her face with her hand. 

“That sounds so awful when I’m telling it to you,” she said.

Daryl shook his head.

“No—I’m just thinkin’…Merle mighta met his fuckin’ match in that one,” Daryl said. “Well—here—go wild. I mean it. Whatever the hell you want. If you think it’s the slightest bit interesting, you drop it in the basket.”

Daryl gave Carol a little space to look at things. He thought she might feel a bit more relaxed if she could examine things and fill her basket without him looking over her shoulder. He wandered around, too. He was amazed at how many things there were to look at. He’d never imagined that there were so many toys, games, and other accessories that someone might want in the bedroom. Really, he’d always thought of sex as simply very basic. Although he was still pretty convinced that he could live content with sex, as he knew it now, for the rest of his life, he did like the idea that there was so much variety for those who were seeking it. He certainly couldn’t imagine that there was any reason for anyone to complain about their sex life being boring.

Daryl rested the basket on the floor beside Carol to let her fill it if and how she wanted, and he slipped around the corner. 

The few “for men” items that Daryl found were slightly horrifying. He had zero intention of using most of them if he could avoid it or talk Carol out of it. In fact, he decided to steer her away from one corner entirely, if that were at all possible. Further down, he found a whole collection of fake pussies and everything else that he could imagine—and plenty that he didn’t really want to imagine. 

He had no need for even trying any of that. It didn’t matter how “silky” and “luxurious” the packages claimed their products to be, he had a hard time imagining that any of them would come close to the real thing. Maybe other assholes hadn’t appreciated it in the past, and maybe he didn’t agree with Merle’s pretended beliefs that the pussy was the whole package, but he was a pretty big fan of Carol’s pussy. As far as he was concerned, it was pretty damn perfect as far as pussies went.

And he was more interested in what Carol wanted—and in entertaining her—than finding things that were marked to be marketed toward him. This was Carol’s adventure, and she was allowing him to be part of it. 

Luckily, it seemed that many of the items in the store were marked for “her pleasure,” and that was what mainly what Daryl figured they needed. 

Daryl found Carol with his eyes. She was studying a wall, obviously engaged in her task. He left her alone. He made his way up to the front of the store and plucked another basket from the stack. The woman behind the counter looked up from her magazine and tracked him with her eyes for a moment, but ultimately found him uninteresting.

Daryl scanned the racks. He picked up items, read them, and considered them. One by one, he dropped items that interested him into his basket. When he was satisfied that the had at least a few things that could help pass some time, he made his way back to the outfits and rifled through them. There was something for everyone, really, and any costume that might help fulfill a fantasy was on display. Though Daryl wouldn’t be against seeing Carol in any of the costumes—and, in fact, he was pretty sure that he’d find her attractive wearing an industrial strength black garbage bag with holes for her head and arms—there were two costumes that grabbed his attention. He quickly added those to his basket, as well. 

He skipped the movies, snagged what appeared to be a table game, and strolled over to what he might consider the practical corner of the store. He’d already decided he was footing at least half the bill for this adventure—and, at the very least, the whole price of his basket full of novelties—so he opted for the largest bottle of lubricant available that advertised itself as being not only helpful in the bedroom, but specially formulated for sensitive skin. Daryl didn’t know if Carol’s skin was particularly sensitive, but it stood to reason that the skin that would be most affected by their adventures would be at least a little sensitive. For good measure, he also got a small bottle of a different type of lubricant that bragged about the amazing, never-before-experienced sensations it would offer to the both of them.

When Daryl found Carol, she smiled at him, and then her eyes dropped to his basket. They went a little wide. 

“You’ve been—shopping,” she said. 

He glanced into her basket.

“You ain’t done so bad yourself,” he offered. 

“Daryl?” 

She plucked the outfits from his basket and held them up. He felt his face grow warm. 

“No?” He asked.

“There’s hardly anything here,” Carol said.

“I could be totally wrong on this one,” Daryl said, “but I think that’s the point.” She made a face—almost like she was struggling with the outfits. “They ain’t nothin’ but novelties, Carol. Like—toys, almost. Dress-up. Besides—you kinda liked the idea of the movies for a minute. This is just pretend.”

“I won’t look good in this,” Carol said, waving one of the outfits at him. He couldn’t help but smile to himself.

“You would look fuckin’ incredible in that,” he said. “But—if you don’t want to…”

“You really like it, don’t you?” Carol said. 

“I’m real visual. I like to see things,” Daryl offered. He could tell that she was considering it. He got the distinct feeling, in his gut, that it wasn’t that she was fully against it. There was something else there. “Nobody’s gonna see it but you and me.” She looked a little more relieved. “You gonna look amazing. But if you don’t want to…” 

“It’s just for pretend,” she said. “Like—a fantasy.”

“That’s all it is,” Daryl said. “Like—in your books, right? Like see? You got themes like the west and, sometimes, like the one in Scotland, when they go there. This is just like—it’s like…a fantasy.” 

“Like visual storytelling,” Carol offered. 

“Exactly,” Daryl confirmed. He realized, at that moment, that she was looking a great deal more relaxed about the whole thing. 

“It’s kind of—embarrassing,” Carol said.

“You got no reason to be embarrassed around me,” Daryl said. “Hell—I thought—with all this…we’re gonna have to agree either to not let a single damn thing embarrass us or, I don’t know, to just embrace the fuckin’ embarrassment.” 

“Embrace the embarrassment?” She asked with a smile.

“That’s part of the laughter, right? The playing? Ain’t that what you said you wanted? Good sex, that you enjoyed, that could have laughter and playing?” 

She smiled to herself, sincerely.

“That is what I want,” she said. “And this is—playing dress-up.” 

Daryl nodded.

“Tell you what,” he said. “If you’ll—just try ‘em, I’ll…wear somethin’ you want.” The corner of her mouth curled up.

“You’re serious?” She asked.

“Go ahead,” Daryl said. “Embarrass me or…whatever you want. Same deal as yours, though. Nobody sees it but us.” 

She nodded.

“Kilt,” she said.

“What?” 

“A kilt,” she said. “I think I’d like it if…”

Daryl felt his face burn, but he couldn’t very well ask her to dress up for him if he wasn’t willing to do the same for her. He nodded.

“Fine,” he said. “See if they got what you want.”

Carol smiled.

“Come on. I’ve got to find these in my size, too,” she said. “I’m flattered you think these would fit, but I’d need at least two just to cover me.” 

Daryl followed after her.

“I got an idea,” he said. “If you’re up for it. Could make the whole thing more like a game.”

“What is it?” Carol asked, reaching the racks and clearly starting to go in search of Daryl’s preferred costumes in a size that she thought would be more appropriate for her body.

“You don’t peek no more in my basket, and I won’t peek in yours,” Daryl offered. “We’ll each buy our own baskets. Separate. Then we can—open ‘em when we get to the house.” 

Carol turned around. She practically lit up when she liked something, and Daryl’s stomach reacted to her expression. He felt an odd swell of pride and pleasure that he could simply say something that made her so happy.

“Like a surprise!” She said. Daryl laughed to himself and nodded.

“Yeah. Like a surprise.” 

“I love that!” Carol said. 

“Me too,” Daryl agreed.

Her smile didn’t fade. Instead, she pointed toward what had her attention, a moment before, on the rack. 

“There—find your size. You can pick the color you want. Either is fine with me.” 

Daryl laughed to himself and flicked through the rack of costumes where Carol had directed him. He was glad they were keeping this a secret between them. He could call it whatever he wanted, but Merle would never let him live it down if he found out he was buying a skirt.

But, for Carol, he’d buy one—and wear it, too.


	39. Chapter 39

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Leaning, Daryl caught Carol’s face and kissed her again. The kiss was broken, though, by the fact that Carol couldn’t hold back her smile. Daryl didn’t mind that many of their kisses seemed to be dissolving with sincere smiles. Carol nuzzled her face against his, brushing him with her nose and cheek in an effort to make whatever connection with him that she could.

No woman had ever nuzzled Daryl that way and, he was sure, if he asked Carol, he would learn that she’d never done that before, either. It was something instinctual that seemed to be driving her to do it. Maybe it was simply something animalistic—biological—something like the electric tingle that ran up Daryl’s spine over some of the simple touches that they shared.

They hadn’t even seen what each other had picked out, and their laughter and excitement had been over the simple fact that they’d gone and done something that seemed so deliciously taboo together. In the truck, Carol had held Daryl’s hand when he didn’t need it for driving, and he’d noticed that both of them moved faster up the walkway at her house—practically jogging—as they carried their “discreet” black bags inside.

If they never touched a single item in either bag, the day would have still felt like an absolute success to Daryl.

It had taken a great deal of kisses, a cold drink for each of them, a cigarette on the back porch, and a bathroom break for each of them to even make it to the bedroom with their spoils. Like children dumping out Halloween candy, they’d unceremoniously dumped their bags out on the bed and left their items in a pile for a moment.

Carol’s face was pink, and Daryl imagined his was no less tinged with color. There was no need to pretend, though, that it all wasn’t at least a little embarrassing. 

“We’ll never enjoy it if we try to get through all of this,” Carol said, marveling at the pile. They’d both spent far more than they’d intended when they went in, but they’d both accepted it as a worthwhile expense. 

“I don’t think we ought to,” Daryl said. “Save it.”

“For next time?” Carol asked. There was definite challenge in her voice and her eyebrows raised. 

“Always,” Daryl responded, half-shrugging his shoulders.

Carol’s attempts to playfully harden her features melted away entirely. 

“I think—you’re right,” Carol said. “It’s too much for one day.” 

“Be like eatin’ too much candy or some shit,” Daryl said. “After a while, we won’t even be enjoyin’ it, just bein’ gluttonous.” 

“So—how do we do this, then?” Carol asked.

Daryl thought about it a moment. She sat on the bed, near the pillows and across the pile from him, with her knees folded under her. She’d barely bothered with makeup, and her hair was practically wild. Daryl would have been happy to simply sit, like this, and look at her for most of the day. 

The pile on the bed was a bit daunting. He couldn’t even begin to imagine all the possibilities that they’d chosen between them. 

“We each pick a thing,” Daryl said. “One thing. For now. We put the rest in the closet or somethin’.” 

Carol’s smile broadened.

“And then we can pick another thing when we want something one night or…”

“Yeah,” Daryl agreed quickly, not wanting her to lose her enthusiasm or read even a second’s hesitation as him not agreeing with her. 

“You want me to put on—one of the costumes?” Carol asked. 

Daryl considered it and shook his head. 

“Not today,” he said.

She laughed.

“Special occasion?” She asked.

Daryl’s stomach churned. They’d said they were suspending embarrassment and judgement. They’d talked about it in the truck. If they were going to do this—really let themselves experiment—then that meant that they had to feel like they could really come clean with one another about what they wanted and thought they might want. The very idea of being that open and honest with Carol struck Daryl in two very different ways at once.

On the one hand, Daryl considered himself a very honest and straightforward individual. He had always been that way—honest to a fault, he’d been told. People were put off by it, so some had said, but Daryl found that there were people who appreciated it, too, and he didn’t care much about the ones that were afraid of honesty. He was more afraid of what they were hiding than what anyone could come clean about. Still, Daryl hadn’t ever been fully open and honest—not about everything and not how they were proposing to try to be honest with each other.

On the other hand, the very idea of being that open and honest with Carol—and of having her dare to be so open and honest with him—made Daryl’s whole body feel like it was practically vibrating with energy. It shortened his breath. It made his mind feel a little like he was buzzed. He wanted to share with her on a level that he hadn’t ever shared with anyone else. And, more than that, he wanted her to share with him—he wanted her to openly and happily share something like that with him.

But it was still frightening.

“Somethin’ like that,” Daryl said, surprised at the quality of his voice as he forced himself to consider taking the first steps toward openness. Someone had to do it, and he wanted her to know that he meant what he said. He wasn’t going to lead her to share with him just to leave her on a limb. He cleared his throat and gathered his resolve. “I thought—if you liked the idea…”

“Whatever it is, Daryl, I’d like to hear it,” Carol offered when Daryl hesitated.

“You like the books,” Daryl said. “And—I like ‘em. You say you like the whole fantasy of it, right? The whole—I don’t know—the whole thing. The idea of a different time or a different world or whatever. You like that.” 

“I do,” Carol said, smiling to herself. 

Daryl nodded.

“Then I was thinkin’ that—and I might not be no good at it, so keep your expectations pretty damn low, if you don’t mind—that we could…maybe act out some of the fantasies that you have.”

Carol stared at him for a moment. There was a hint of a smile on her lips. Her head was tipped to the side. 

“You want to play pretend with me?” She asked.

“When you say it like that,” Daryl offered, “I’d just as soon take my keys an’ go.” 

Carol laughed.

“I don’t mean it bad! Please—Daryl—I’m not even teasing. I just—don’t know how else to say it.”

“Actin’ out a fantasy sounds a helluva lot better’n playin’ pretend,” Daryl said. Carol’s cheeks ran a much warmer red than they’d been before and the blush spread even beyond her cheeks.

“You’re right,” she said. “That does sound nice.” 

“Better’n pretend,” Daryl said, his embarrassment fading a little. “I mean hell—we ain’t six.”

“I mean—the name for it sounds better,” Carol ceded. “But—the whole idea sounds…well it sounds wonderful to me, Daryl.”

“Yeah?” 

“Fun,” Carol said.

“I ain’t no damn good at acting,” Daryl said.

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

“Maybe I’m not either,” she said. “Maybe that’s—half the fun? Can I admit that—I like the idea of…playing with you?”

“It just doesn’t sound…very masculine,” Daryl admitted.

“Daryl—you have my solemn word that…I would never emasculate you. Not on purpose. And if I did? I would—hope that you would correct me. Gently, maybe…but…”

“I wouldn’t never hurt you,” he assured her. “No matter what the hell you done.”

Carol crawled across the bed to him, circling around the pile of items. On her hands and knees, she reached for his face and her cool fingers stroked his cheek. She held his eyes intently with her own beautiful eyes. Daryl’s dick jumped in response to the look alone, urging him to accept whatever she was offering because, whatever it was, it must be good. Daryl shifted slightly to accommodate his growing interest. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything, and she didn’t break the look between them until she glanced at his lips. She rocked forward, catching his lips. She bit him—nipped him, really—and tugged at his lip before she sucked his bottom lip between her lips and ran her tongue over it to soothe the sting of the bite. 

Daryl’s dick was prepared to sell him out entirely for this, that much was evident. 

His heart was pounding, and his lungs were struggling to get air. 

Carol meant this kiss, and his brain couldn’t explain it any other way. She meant it. Wholeheartedly. 

Daryl moaned at her and caught her head, inviting her to keep sharing her offerings with him. She hummed back at him, doing just that. He accepted her tongue and she swept it against his.

“I think you’re very much a man,” Carol offered when their lips parted. “And I don’t think—having fun with me and…fucking me? Could make you less of a man.” She sat back on her heels and Daryl felt the heaviness in his chest that he often felt when he got out of bed after having sex with her—the strange sensation that, though she was still there, she was so much farther away than he wanted her to be. “Besides—it’s just between us. I swear…I wouldn’t even tell Andrea…not if you didn’t want me to.” 

“You keep kissin’ me like that, and I’m not sure I give a fuck who you tell.” 

Carol laughed to herself, but she looked pleased with herself as well. She had every right to be.

“Is that what you want now?” 

“The kisses?” 

“The—acting?” 

“Not right now,” Daryl said. “Maybe we—work up to it?” 

Carol nodded.

“That’s fine,” she said. “Then—do you know what you’re picking out of the…treasure trunk?” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I do. You?” 

Carol examined the pile of “treasures,” and Daryl gave her a moment. Finally, she reached out, selected her item from among the pile, and held it up. She almost looked apologetic. Her expression tugged at something inside Daryl while also making him have to swallow back amusement.

“You sad about it?” He asked. 

“Is it bad?” She asked.

“How can it be bad?” Daryl asked. “It’s a blindfold, Carol, not a grenade.” 

“I mean—maybe it’s not…it’s not very exciting, is it?” 

“You wanna use it?” Daryl asked. She nodded. “Then, hell, it’s fuckin’ exciting. What you want to do with it?” She shrugged, clearly working up to sharing her truth in the same way Daryl had felt like he had to work up to it before. “Why you want to use it?” He asked, pressing her to dig a little deeper while she was down there in the pool of buried things.

“In a lot of my books they use blindfolds. They talk about—one sense is lost so the others are heightened. It always sounds like it would feel so good. Like it would be so good.” 

Daryl bit the inside of his cheek, hard. His dick believed in beating no bones about his opinions, in that moment, and the longing sound of Carol’s voice as she explained how good it could all be caught his interest. He certainly had a deep-rooted desire to make her feel good enough to merit that tone of voice. 

“I would never dream of covering my eyes around Ed,” Carol said. She laughed to herself, nervously. “I didn’t even like to sleep around him. But—I feel like I can trust you.” 

Daryl’s stomach tightened. He didn’t miss the significance of the words. He felt them, in fact, all the way to the core of himself. A glance at the pile told him there were other “trust” items there. And trust, he knew, was something more valuable than anything else that someone could give you.

“You can trust me,” he assured her, knowing that a simple confirmation would mean more than some flowery declaration or something she could worriedly pick apart or doubt. 

“Is it too boring?” Carol asked.

Daryl shook his head.

“I’m not bored by anything about you,” Daryl said. “Worst part about it is—it’ll cover up your eyes. And I like lookin’ at your eyes. But…it’ll be worth it, too.” He cleared his throat. “It’ll go good with my pick, too.” 

Carol was clearly breathing a little heavily and irregularly. Her chest rose and fell quickly as she got her nerves under control and accepted that he wasn’t going to reject her desire, or her gift of trust, and he wasn’t going to ridicule her.

“What’d you pick?” Carol asked.

“Kinda silly, but…” Daryl held up the package.

“Dice?” She asked.

“They’re not just dice, Carol. They’re twelve-sided ‘Oh! Dice,’ Daryl said, reading from the package. “One’s got generic locations—like around the house. One’s got positions.” 

“You like that?” Carol asked.

“I never really tried a lot of positions,” Daryl said. “And we ain’t ventured outside the bedroom. So…I mean…unless you don’t like it…”

“I don’t know if my house has twelve locations in it…” Carol mused. “But we can certainly give it a try. But if I can’t see anything…”

“Then you’ll just have to trust me to guide you through the whole damn thing,” Daryl said with a smile. He winked at her. “We can play a round before lunch if you’re up to it.” 

Carol smiled at him. She handed him the blindfold.

“You better tie this on me,” she said. “We don’t want it falling off.”


	40. Chapter 40

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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The first sign of nervousness was a visible tension in her neck and shoulders when Daryl asked her if the mask was tied to her liking. He did what his instincts told him to do—because he felt like he was being driven by a part of himself that was functioning almost on autopilot. He worked the muscles with his fingertips and kissed the back of her neck and her shoulders. The shiver that ran through her seemed to run the final bit of tension away for a moment.

He nuzzled the nape of her neck as she’d nuzzled his face earlier. He inhaled her scent there. His chest ached.

And he knew that the words he was thinking were there too soon. They were big words to have such a small count of letters, and they would frighten her. He swallowed them back and kept them from escaping his mouth, but he gave them free reign of his mind. 

“You feel OK?” He asked, deciding that it could, in its own way, express a little of what he was feeling. He maintained his spot behind her, hands on her bare shoulders.

She’d shucked her shirt unceremoniously. Quickly. She’d undone her bra and flicked it to the side. He’d followed suit, and she’d shimmied out of her pants. Even without saying it, they both understood that they may have a lot of things to navigate, and clothing wasn’t important. There was no need playing coy about what they expected to happen.

She didn’t answer him, but she had relaxed against him, and Daryl didn’t move from where he was allowing his body to apply the slightest bit of pressure to her back. There was time. He didn’t have to move immediately. He slipped an arm under hers, brought it around, and gently cupped her breast. He squeezed it, gently, and she moaned. He heard satisfaction in it and a touch of the tone she’d used earlier—almost reverent—when she’d been talking about her hopes for the pleasure that a blindfold might help her find. He felt her nipple stiffen against his finger as he purposefully brushed a finger against it.

He smiled to himself, his lips against her shoulder, when she rocked her body forward—an instinctual physical reaction to pleasure that must feel, to her, something like the lightening strikes of pleasure that went directly from some point in Daryl’s body to his sometimes over-aware dick.

“Tell me you OK, or you ain’t,” Daryl said. “I gotta hear it before…anything else.”

“I’m OK,” Carol breathed out. 

“Blindfold too tight?” 

“It’s perfect.”

“Can you see?” 

“No,” Carol said. “Just—light around the edges, but…it’s actually really good at its job.” She laughed to herself. “I’m not sure—if that’s a good thing.” 

“Why not?” Daryl didn’t move beyond the few minor movements he allowed the hand that was playing with her breast. He gave her time to work up to her response. He felt her muscles tense as her body reacted to the insecurities of her mind. 

“I…I…” she stammered, with a few more false starts to her words. Daryl closed his eyes and his chest tightened. He felt like he could practically absorb her thoughts through her skin now that they were so close to one another. 

“I’m not Ed,” he said, keeping his voice low and calm, and practically whispering those words into her ear. “I’m not. I’m not Ed and—I won’t hurt you. You can trust me. I ain’t him.”

He would repeat the mantra all day if she needed it. She relaxed, though, a little, and he moved to sit on the bed facing her. Her face drew up like she might cry, and he brushed his thumb across her lips to let her know he was there before he kissed her, taking away the threat of her cries with his lips.

“We don’t have to,” he said. “I’ll take it off.”

“No,” she said. She took a few deep breaths that were clearly meant to calm her. Daryl worked her hands in his. “Please—I want to do this…I’m sorry…”

“Shhh,” Daryl hissed at her softly. “I don’t want you apologizin’ to me, OK? I don’t like it. Not when you’re apologizin’ for somethin’ you ain’t done wrong.”

He understood what she was going through in a way. He had strange fears, insecurities, and moments where his long-buried past threatened to suffocate him over things that went bump in the night. His psychiatrist had assured him that was normal and it didn’t make him crazy. Carol would have the same things. The biggest difference, though, was that he was stepping into the place of her former abuser. For Daryl, there would be no other “old man.” The only one there had ever been was dead. Gone. In the ground. Maggot food and, realistically, probably not even that now. Everything he was and had been was reduced, more than likely, to little more than bones. 

But, for Carol, her demons were stirred up and stoked—riled up as another man stepped into the role that had been vacated by her own personal devil.

Daryl was innocent of the crimes committed against her, but her mind and her body would only learn and fully accept that slowly, and Daryl could be patient. 

A hint of a smile tugged the corner of her mouth up. She squeezed his hand in hers and nodded her head.

“OK,” she breathed out.

“Feelin’ better?” He asked, seeing a change to her face. She licked her lips and nodded again. He believed her. 

“What does your dice say?” 

“Haven’t rolled ‘em yet,” Daryl said.

“Do it,” she said, her smile growing into the one he was accustomed to seeing her wear in his presence. A few knots in his stomach untangled as he saw that she was clearly coming out of the dark woods her mind had led her into earlier.

He rested her hand on his leg to keep their connection, and she lazily trailed her fingers over his thigh—catching the attention of his dick far more than was probably suitable for such an innocent touch—while he opened the package and flicked the dice onto the bed. He considered the results and rolled them again. 

This time, with her blindfolded for the very first time and a little nervous, and him feeling a little shaky and afraid that he couldn’t even begin to execute some of the moves on the dice—especially without her assistance in helping him figure them out—he wanted something simple. It was cheating, but he continued to roll them until he was satisfied that he’d found a position that he could pull off and a location that would still provide them with some comfort in the earliest moments of experimentation. 

Her dedication to creating a treasure trunk of toys was the best promise that she could give him that there would be a next time—they would have time to try to the things that were more complicated. 

“What’s going on?” Carol asked. “Everything OK?” 

“Fine,” he assured her. “I got it. Just lemme get—supplies, you know?” 

“Supplies?” She asked, doing her best to track him when he stood up. “What’s…?”

Daryl knew right where she kept things now, and he opened the bedside drawer. He skirted her other toys. He avoided, to the best of his ability, even looking at anything else in her drawer to give her some privacy. 

“Just—a condom and…would you rather I use this lube or that big bottle first? You got some in here. Just—to make sure things feel good if you want it.” 

“I guess it doesn’t matter…”

Daryl decided the smaller bottle was more portable and could be refilled from the large bottle he’d purchased. He grabbed it, read the back of the condom box, and selected one of the foil packages—all of which boasted to have different features to enhance her pleasure. 

He wasn’t going to bother with the lube that promised some kind of strange and exhilarating pleasure for the both of them. He decided, without asking Carol, that he felt boring enough and she was nervous enough, that it was best to introduce new sensations into their now-shared environment slowly. 

There was time, after all, for other things.

The only brief wish that Daryl had was that he had pockets, but nudity didn’t really allow for that. Carol accepted his “lemme put this down” request, and waited for him to return. He caught her hands and pulled her to her feet.

“Where are we going?” She asked.

“Don’t matter,” Daryl said. “It’s a surprise for you, remember?” 

“Are you going to tell me what we’re doing?” 

“No,” Daryl said. “I don’t think so.” She was smiling, so he wasn’t too worried about her responding negatively. 

“I don’t want to fall, Daryl,” she confessed sincerely. 

To make her feel better, Daryl moved beside her and wrapped an arm tightly around her. 

“I ain’t gonna let you fall,” Daryl said. “I promise. Even if you picked both your feet up, you wouldn’t fall. OK? I got you. I could carry you in there.” 

“OK,” she said, accepting that he wasn’t going to let her accidentally hurt herself anymore than he was going to hurt her. She wrapped her arm around him, too. He could feel tension in her body, but he imagined a blind walk would make anyone a little tense. They didn’t have too far to go. He’d chosen the living room because he knew he could make it comfortable for this first event. 

“Stay here,” Daryl said, letting go of Carol. She stood stiffly, but she stayed. Daryl took the blanket from the back of the couch and spread it out on the floor. He moved what they would need and came back for Carol. “Come on,” he urged. “I got you.” 

Standing near the blanket, he finally allowed himself to start touching her. He caught her face. He brushed her lips with his before he finally allowed her the real kiss that she kept seeking, leaning her face toward him and then laughing to herself at his teasing when he moved just beyond her reach. He was repaid for his playfulness by the fullness of the kiss that she shared with him when she was finally granted permission to kiss him. 

Her hands found his body. Her fingertips trailed around his skin, leaving trails of warmth wherever they went like her fingertips could emit tiny shocks of electricity. Her fingers worked over the scars on his back like she was reading braille. He knew what she was doing—what she was feeling. He wondered what they felt like to her now that she was temporarily without one of her senses. 

He had never allowed anyone to touch them like Carol was touching them now—like he allowed her touch them when they were embracing one another. He knew she understood them. Her own body bore scars—marks of her ex-husband’s cruelty. Her scars may be different, and his preferred methods of abusing her body might have varied from the ones that Daryl’s old man had enjoyed, but the suffering had been real, just the same, and it had left its mark. 

He didn’t feel pity in her touch, and he hadn’t ever seen it in her eyes, so he closed his eyes and enjoyed the tender caresses instead of shrinking away from them.

“Spread your legs,” Daryl said.

She blew her breath out with a soft sound of amusement, but she did as he asked.

“Is this—part of the position?” She asked.

Daryl helped himself to a small glop of the lubricant and spread it over some of his fingers. It was messy—and this whole endeavor was bound to be messy—but he decided it was all going to be worth it. They could clean it all up together at the end of everything.

With his non-messy fingers, he worked her clit. The sound that escaped her and the expression on her face—the shape of her mouth—was worth all of it.

“No,” he said, continuing his work. “I just wanna feel you.” A sound of approval got caught in her throat, but he understood it. He swallowed. He studied her. Watching her face contort with pleasure that looked so much like pain—pain that she clearly wanted—nearly drove him mad, but he didn’t want to look away. “I want you to feel me feel you. Wanna see it.” He slipped a finger into her and watched her register his intrusion into her body. He tested different movements and how they either registered or didn’t with her. He slipped another inside her and felt her fingertips dig into his shoulder as she half-supported herself by holding onto him. 

He only meant to tease her, but he got so wrapped up in watching her that he stayed like they were, her holding onto his shoulders, and he played with varying touches until those touches coaxed an orgasm from her body. He watched her face change. He heard the sounds she made—paid attention to them. He accepted her thanks and her panted praise. 

And then, with her legs obviously shaky, he coaxed her to follow him down, supporting her as she lowered herself down so that she wouldn’t fall, to the blanket on the floor. He rolled the condom on, knowing that it would probably provide protection and little else at this point. This would be too fast for her pleasure, he feared.

“Come here,” he directed. “Lay down.” 

“On my back?” Carol asked.

“Yeah,” Daryl said.

“Can I know—what’s the position?” 

“Can I be honest?” 

“I’ve never known you to be anything else,” Carol admitted.

“Was supposed to be—a whole different position,” Daryl admitted. “I picked the—one where you was gonna be sittin’ on my lap. Facin’ away from me.” 

“OK…” Carol said, drawing out the word. She was waiting for him to continue.

“I just want you,” Daryl admitted. “Shit—I just want this…and I wanna see you. Just like this…and I’m about ready to lose it right the fuck now so this ain’t gonna be no damn good for you, and I’m sorry for that.” 

She smiled at him and she spread her legs—a clear gesture of welcome. 

“Kiss me?” 

He obliged. He moved his body over her. Being this close to her was almost torture at the moment. He felt his throat tightening. He was desperate for her, but still nervous to assume that she meant he could take advantage of her somewhat open position. She smiled at him when the kiss broke. Her fingertips danced over the skin of his face.

“Well?” She asked. “Are you—coming in?” 

He needed no more than the teased invitation. He was inside her, as far as he could be, as quickly as he could be. The lubrication his fingers had left behind, mixed with her body’s own additions, made his entrance faster and harder than he’d intended. The sound that escaped her was choked and her mouth’s shape told him her eyes would be big if he could see them behind the blindfold.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed against her neck, holding himself back from thrusting for a second, sure he’d probably be too fast and too rough if he just let himself go. “I won’t get you nowhere…”

“You’ve already got me every—where. Every—way.” Carol breathed out her words. They struck Daryl. Stuck in his mind a second. Tightened his stomach. He was too overcome, though, to think on them too much. His brain could think of nothing more than relief. “Daryl—let go. I feel everything right now. I want to feel what you want.”

The permission to let go was the final thing that Daryl needed. He did let go. He drove into her, looking for relief and release. He didn’t restrain himself or his movements. He did what she asked. He let her feel what he wanted. What he was seeking. He was simultaneously aware that it was fast and that it felt like all of time slowed down while she gripped at his sides and accepted whatever he wanted to give to her. It was hard, and he was sure he should apologize to her. 

And despite the many and varied sounds that escaped her—almost animalistic at times, which only spurred him on more—he was certain that he hadn’t brought her to orgasm again by the time he’d tied a knot in the condom and, accepting that the blanket was a mess already, tossed it to the side.

She was panting, lying on the floor, and he snuggled next to her and turned her face to kiss her. She returned the kiss, and he trailed a hand down between her legs and worked her. She was, at the moment, clearly beyond speech. She was expressions and sounds, but no words, and Daryl wasn’t sure that he had words, either. But he felt her body jerk as she writhed next to him and he kept going, curious in his relaxed state of afterglow—where he didn’t have to worry at all about his own arousal for some time—to see how long her body could continue to give the violent jerks in response to his touch.

Finally, she found words enough to ask him to stop, and he stopped immediately. He kissed the side of her face, letting her gulp air with her mouth, and then he kissed her lips gently. He slipped his hand behind her head. She was practically a rag doll lolling in his arms. He removed the blindfold and tossed it to the side. Her eyes and lashes were wet. 

“I missed you,” she said softly, and with a smile. 

It was the strangest thing to say, perhaps, but it felt incredible as it registered within Daryl’s body. 

“Missed you too,” he offered. “Missed—seein’ your eyes. Did I hurt you? Be honest?” He added the last words after he saw a moment of hesitation on her features.

“Just a little,” Carol said. “But—in the best way possible.” 

“I got too rough,” he admitted. “Way too rough.”

“No,” Carol said. “You were perfect. Maybe not—for every time, but…for sometimes?” 

“It was so damn good. Felt like—I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry.” 

“No,” Carol said. “You’re right. It was—so damn good.” 

Daryl couldn’t help but smile at her. She looked around, taking in where they were and the blanket they were lying on. Then she relaxed again.

“My back is going to kill me if we stay down here too long,” she admitted.

“Mine too,” Daryl agreed. “But—I’ll get you up.” 

She laughed to herself.

“I know you will,” she said.

“You enjoyed your mask? Was it—what you wanted it to be?” 

Carol licked her lips and clearly considered the question sincerely—glancing off to the side and just over Daryl’s shoulder. Her answer would be an honest one.

“This was—a lot more than I even expected,” Carol said. She looked around, again, and shifted against the blanket. She moved her legs and she wrinkled her nose at him. “I’m—a little slimy. Shower with me and then I’ll make lunch?” 

Daryl nodded. He worked his way up to his knees, and Carol followed suit. He stood up and helped her up. She glanced back at the mess they left behind.

“We’ll clean this up after we shower,” she said. She threaded her fingers through Daryl’s and pulled him after her and toward her bathroom.

“I was thinkin’,” Daryl offered, following along behind her and enjoying the simple easiness that seemed to have wrapped around them in that moment, “if you wanted…and only if you wanted…I could build us a sort of treasure chest. Somethin’ simple that would look nice in your room and wouldn’t be too obvious. Pick up the stuff and…I could have it done by tomorrow evening, even. You know for—holdin’ all our stuff until we want it again.” 

Carol looked at him over her shoulder and smiled. 

“I think that would be a wonderful idea,” Carol assured him. “But I’d hate to take up your whole weekend.”

Daryl laughed to himself.

“There ain’t no better way I’d rather spend the time.”


	41. Chapter 41

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Carol brushed her cheek against Daryl’s chest. She could hear his heart beating, pumping blood through his body, and she felt like hers changed rhythm to match it—calm, slow, soothing beats. Her body felt deliciously heavy—worn out in all the best ways. Daryl slept or, maybe, just pretended to sleep. He lie still with his eyes closed, his own body drained.

It was too early to be in bed for the night, and it was too late to have not gotten up for the morning. The truth was that it was creeping closer to night than morning, and they’d been up many times and returned to the sanctuary of the bed.

The sheets and blankets were tangled and messy—a number of various things had dried on them in places. Carol would strip the bed and replace the sheets before she went to sleep for good.

Part of her ached, though, to think about going to sleep for the night. 

It was Sunday, and Daryl would be going home for the week. He’d never meant to stay this long. He’d said as much when Carol washed his clothes for him and returned them to him to wear because he only brought one change of clothes. 

Carol could lounge in his arms, like this, and completely relax. She didn’t have to wonder what he was thinking—though she could, if she wanted—and when she did wonder that, it was only because she was curious about his feelings, and not because she felt driven by some innate sense of self-preservation. 

She could draw, from his body, comfort and the warmth of physical touch and affection. His hands were rough—evidence of a life spent working with them—and strong, but she didn’t fear them when he touched her. He hadn’t hurt her—not on purpose, and not in any way that really mattered—since she’d met him. He was, admittedly, a bit like a large puppy, sometimes, in that his excitement and enthusiasm—mixed with just a touch of clumsy awkwardness—made him sometimes rougher than he meant to be, but Carol didn’t feel threatened by that. She found it, instead, endearing. Like a large puppy, all legs and sloppy kisses, knocking her to the floor, she accepted that any of Daryl’s accidental and over-exuberant roughness came from a simple, and sometimes overwhelming, desire to be close to her.

It was a strange feeling—entirely foreign, but becoming more and more a part of her life—to have a man who wanted to be near her. It was strange to begin to trust, because she was beginning, without a doubt, to trust it, that every time he reached for her, it was with affection and good intention.

It was a strange feeling to have a knot in her throat at the thought that, soon, the sun would start to set and he would leave the bed to go to his house for the week—and she would miss him.

She would miss him.

Ed had taught her that her solitude was the happiest place she could find. He’d taught her that being alone was the best she could ask for—it was where she found peace. He’d taught her that, at most, she would find happiness with others in her friends, but a man couldn’t be trusted. A man would bring her nothing but pain and heartache.

And now, Daryl was teaching her that she could find peace in his arms. She could find happiness and fun in his presence. She could smile and laugh without suspicion or ridicule. She could rest beside him, close her eyes, and linger there. She could do all that, and never fear that something would set off some kind of alarm in his brain that made her the enemy who must be punished and otherwise dealt with. 

Her heart was learning to miss him, and it was telling her, with a building ache, that his presence was becoming preferable to her solitude.

But Carol didn’t know how to tell Daryl that and, honestly, she found it a little unsettling and a touch frightening.

Something inside her begged her to hold onto him, while another voice, entirely, warned her that she was close enough to get burned and should protect herself more.

Carol rubbed her face against him again. Her heart ached. Her throat ached. It was bound up with words she wouldn’t dare to say and, at the moment, just the though of them made a tremor run through her body. 

Just then, Daryl moved his hand. He rubbed her back. He shifted his arm to pull her closer, not that she could possibly get any closer. 

“Hey,” he said, breaking a silence they’d been guarding for a while. “You droolin’ on me or…?” 

He sat up. She looked at him, her chin resting on his chest. The other hand came across and brushed away the tears that she had felt slip from her eyes. 

“I do somethin’ wrong?” He asked.

Carol smiled at him. She swallowed against the lump in her throat and raised her head. 

“No,” she said. 

“You cryin’? Why?” 

“You’re doing—everything right.” 

Daryl laughed nervously to himself.

“That don’t make any sense,” he offered.

“I know,” Carol agreed. “Is that OK?” 

He smiled at her. He brushed his thumb against her cheek.

“It’s all perfect to me,” he said.

Carol simply nodded, feeling unable to say anything else, and sighed as she lowered her head back down to rest against him—starkly aware of the minutes passing before he would leave, but entirely unable to tell him how much she wished he wouldn’t go.

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“Nobody has a party on a Wednesday night, Alice,” Michonne said, examining her breakfast sandwich like she had to choose just the right spot for the first bite. “Parties are Fridays and Saturdays.”

“Maybe for someone who lives a Friday and Saturday life,” Alice said. “But some of us don’t work the standard schedule, Mich.” 

“Who wants a hangover on a Thursday?” Michonne mused.

“For this one time—what if it wasn’t about you?” Alice asked.

“OK—OK,” Jacqui interrupted. “Before this gets ugly because people don’t know how to behave on a Monday morning—Michonne? Alice is having a party on Wednesday night. She would like for everyone to come and meet her new lady friend.” 

“Sadie,” Alice offered.

“Sadie,” Jacqui echoed. “There will be food and beverage served and, in fact, I’ve already agreed to help Carol cater the event. She would be honored if you’d attend, but the party is taking place with or without you.” 

Michonne laughed to herself around a bite of food.

“Calm down,” she said, tucking what she couldn’t swallow immediately into her cheek. “I’m coming to the party. I’m just giving Alice a hard time. Besides—I want to meet this woman. Make sure she’s not imaginary.” 

“Sadie’s incredible,” Alice said. 

“As incredible as—what was her name? Darlene? Or Angela? Or—what about Samantha?” 

“Do you want me to start counting failed relationships?” Alice challenged.

“God, no,” Andrea interrupted. “We’re all thrilled to meet Sadie. But—just how big is this catered event?” 

“Intimate,” Alice said. “Just us. The Glory Gals and whoever you want to bring.”

“We’re only catering it so that Alice doesn’t have to cook after work, and Sadie doesn’t feel burdened with cooking for it,” Carol said. “And there won’t be any dishes for them to do after. It’s just a little—welcome to the family gift from Jacqui and me.” 

“Have you met this incredible, amazing, wonderful woman?” Michonne asked.

Carol shook her head.

“Nobody has,” Andrea challenged.

“Hence the party,” Alice said. “Listen—it’s just us. I want everyone to have a chance to really get to know Sadie. And—she’s deaf. So, I don’t want it to be too overwhelming, you know? Just trying to keep up with everything that’s going on. She’s said she doesn’t like big gatherings. She said she feels like she gets lost sometimes. I don’t want it to be too big.”

“Should we come alone?” Jacqui asked. “We want her to feel comfortable. Welcome.” 

Alice shook her head. 

“No,” she said. “There’s some people we all haven’t met, after all. And I want her to meet T and Ty. I want it to be a normal gathering. You know? And she doesn’t like for people to make a big deal or a fuss over her—or anything.” 

“Are you bringing your new squeeze?” Michonne asked.

Carol squirmed a little.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I don’t know if—he might find it a little uncomfortable.” 

“Because he doesn’t want to meet us?” Alice asked. 

“Because his boss’ll be there,” Carol said. 

“Bring him,” Michonne said. “You know Ty doesn’t like formality. They’re friends at work, why wouldn’t they get along at a gathering? Besides—I’ve never met him outside of a couple of interactions at work. I’d like to see what he’s like when he’s not just head-down-and-job-focused.” 

“I don’t want anyone to purposefully give him a hard time,” Carol warned.

Michonne frowned at her. 

“This feels—serious. Is it that serious?” Michonne didn’t allow Carol the time to answer, not that Carol intended to answer in the first place. “Carol—it hasn’t been that long. Don’t you feel like—it might be a little fast?” She glanced around the table. “In fact—there’s a lot of that in the water around here.” 

“What the hell is fast anyway?” Andrea asked with a shrug. “I mean—you want to know what’s fast, Mich? Life. Life is fucking fast. Just a couple years ago I was doing stupid teenager shit because I was a stupid teenager. Now my lower back hurts every day and I’m aware, every night, that life is just sort of going.”

“And it doesn’t stop going, honey,” Jacqui said with a laugh. “I know what you mean.” 

“My point is—there are still things I wouldn’t mind doing in life,” Andrea said. “But if I sit around waiting for everything I do to happen slowly—so that it’ll make someone who isn’t even me more comfortable because it matches with some idea of decorum, or whatever; I’ll never get there before they throw dirt in my face.” 

“It’s fast,” Carol breathed out. “You’re probably right. It’s so—fast. Too fast.” She drank some of her coffee. “But—sometimes it doesn’t feel fast at all. And, right now? I’m not sure how to reconcile that.” 

“Maybe you don’t have to,” Alice offered. “Seriously—I mean—who the fuck made up the rules? Forever lesbians have been getting a bad rep. We’re u-hauling. First date, fall in love, move in together. That’s the lesbian way. And everyone points their fingers and says that’s why the hell this or that relationship fails, or whatever the fuck they want to criticize, but at the end of the day? Some relationships fail. Some don’t. You don’t kill them just because you fast forward past the bullshit that you don’t like anyway.” 

“Are you u-hauling with Sadie?” Michonne asked.

Alice laughed to herself.

“She’s keeping her place. For now. But—she has the closet in the office that I used to just use for storage.”

“That fast, Al?” Michonne said with obvious disapproval.

“It’s nice to have someone to come home to,” Alice said. “And—if I recall correctly? Nobody at this table said a word when a certain someone rebounded from a failed marriage with a man who wanted to adopt her children within—what? It was barely a month, Michonne, before you were talking parental rights and adoption papers.” 

“After Dean…”

“And after Ed, and after…fucking Shane, Andrea? For years…it’s been Shane off and on. And I’m not even counting the parade of endless fucking bad choices that I’ve made. So—yes, Sadie has a closet in my house. And we’re happy. And Andrea’s skin looks—incredible. And Carol…”

“And Carol’s been walking around smiling and humming for no reason at all,” Jacqui said with a smile. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that around here.”

“Except we all know the reason,” Alice said. “So, seriously—tear the calendar in half and do what feels good instead of what everyone says looks good.” 

“Do you need some water, Al?” Michonne asked with a laugh. “I didn’t know you felt so hot and passionate about things.” 

“Well, I do,” Alice said with a laugh. “I’m sorry—I just…come on Wednesday, OK, Mich? And be nice. And don’t judge. Not me. Not Sadie. Not—anybody. It’s a judgement free party. The only thing you can bring is a significant other and something to contribute to the table, if you want.” 

Michonne held her hands up in mock surrender.

“My apologies to anyone I’ve offended. Ty and I will be there on Wednesday.”

“Carol?” Alice asked.

“I’ll be there,” she said. “I’ll have to ask Daryl.” 

“Andrea?” 

“I’ll be there,” Andrea said. “But—I think I’ll come alone.” 

“Why?” Carol asked.

Andrea shrugged her shoulders.

“I’m not certain that Merle knows that we’re seeing each other yet,” she said. “And—I don’t know if this is how he ought to find out.” 

“So, you’re coming alone?” Michonne asked. “It feels like a couples party, Andrea.” 

“I could always ask Shane,” Andrea said with a laugh. 

“Before I let you do that,” Carol offered, “I’d ask Daryl to ask Merle himself.”


	42. Chapter 42

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. If you missed the chapter that I posted yesterday, please make sure that you go back and read it! 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl looked up when he heard the sound of Merle’s feet, shuffling with heavy steps, on the concrete floor of the shop behind their house. 

“You couldn’t sneak up on nobody for shit these days,” Daryl offered. “I remember when you used to be the quietest thing on two fuckin’ legs in the whole state of Georgia.”

“Merle laughed to himself. 

“It ever occured to you, brother, that maybe I weren’t tryin’ to sneak up on you?” Merle asked. He put one of the red Tupperware plates in front of Daryl. On it was a sandwich and some potato chips. He put a beer bottle down beside it, and produced another for himself from under his arm.

“Hey—don’t put that on here,” Daryl said. “Ain’t treated it yet. Don’t want any rings.” 

“You’re welcome,” Merle said with a laugh as Daryl moved the plate and beer from their spot on the lid of the wooden box he was working on. Merle sat down in the somewhat broken chair nearby. It had been a by-the-side-of-the-road find, and it was perfect for rolling around the shop without worrying about ruining something they’d paid good money for in a store or something.

“Sorry,” Daryl said. “I just—don’t want it to get messed up, you know? Didn’t mean to snap.”

Merle laughed to himself and lit a cigarette that he pulled from the pocket of the bathrobe he was wearing as a housecoat—a terrible green tartan bathrobe that he’d bought on sale one year. He looked homeless when he shuffled around wearing it, but he claimed it was comfortable and he didn’t give a shit what anyone thought about what he wore when he was in the comfort of his own fucking home.

“Don’t think you ate last night, brother,” Merle mused. “Figured—if you was gonna eat tonight, I was gonna have to bring it to you. Bologna. Ain’t gourmet like your lil’ honey bee makes you, but it’s got ketchup an’ shit like you like.” 

“Good,” Daryl said around a bite that had allowed him to take more than a fourth of the sandwich into his mouth. It wasn’t until he was chewing it that he realized how incredibly hungry he actually was. He almost wished that Merle had made him two sandwiches, but he knew that his brother would give him hell if he asked him to go and make him another. 

“You know, brother, when I think about my baby brother spendin’ two damn nights playin’ with his wood in the shop—I don’t know if I wouldn’t rather think he had other shit goin’ on.” 

Merle laughed at his own joke and Daryl rolled his eyes at him. He accepted, though, that such jokes had to be made around their household. Otherwise, Merle might actually shrivel up and die.

“I don’t play with my wood, Merle,” Daryl said

“’Cause you got you a lil’ woman that does that for you, now,” Merle mused. Daryl hummed and nodded. Merle looked pleased to know that someone was taking care of Daryl’s sexual needs and being attentive to his wood. “This for her? This thing that’s—kept your ass busy for two evenings?” 

“It’s for her,” Daryl confirmed.

“The hell is it? A box?” 

“A trunk,” Daryl said. The original vision that he’d had for the project was to simply build Carol a wooden box that she could shove in a corner or closet somewhere. He’d felt like he didn’t want to offer her something pathetic and subpar like that, though, so he’d decided to make something more. And the more he worked on it, the more he wanted it to be something special. “Like a hope chest.” 

“A hope chest, huh? Ain’t that shit like—for marriage? For holdin’ like sheets an’ shit?” 

“Somethin’ like that,” Daryl offered. 

“Marriage, Daryl?” 

Daryl shrugged and shoved the last of the sandwich into his mouth. He sucked the ketchup off his fingers, tasting wood even through the tomato flavor. He probably should have washed his hands, but it was too late, now, for such concerns. He wiped his fingers clean on one of the rags he had nearby and shoveled the chips into his mouth.

Around the food, he addressed Merle’s concerned expression.

“If she wanted, I mean…” Daryl said.

“You that damn serious?” Merle asked. “You don’t gotta marry her ass just ‘cause she’s slobbin’ your knob. You know that, don’t’cha, boy?” 

Daryl finished the chips, wiped his hands again, and washed down the mouthful of food with at least a fourth of the beer before he returned to working at the careful carving he was making on the box.

“It ain’t about that,” Daryl said.

“She is willin’ to give head, ain’t she?”

“Not that it’s any of your damn business, but she does everything I could want. You ain’t gotta worry about it if it’s keepin’ your ass from sleepin’ at night. Fuck knows you need your beauty sleep.” 

Merle snorted.

“You think I’m harpin’ on shit that don’t matter,” Merle said. “But it’s a serious damn thing to even think about some shit like marriage—a whole damn life with someone, brother—if she’s just gonna throw your ass into a lifelong draught the minute you put a ring on it. You gotta check that shit out at the beginning. If she’s a prude—won’t let you have what’cha want? You don’t wanna be saddled with that forever.” 

“Andrea give you everything you want?” Daryl asked.

Merle laughed to himself. The shit eating grin he wore while he sipped at his beer made Daryl curl his lip at his brother before he returned to his work.

“Andrea gives out shit I wouldn’t have even guessed was on offer, brother. But I still ain’t out here carvin’ up some kinda damn bride price for her.”

“Maybe that’s ‘cause you’re a chickenshit, Merle,” Daryl mused.

“You really are serious?” 

“The trunk ain’t so she’ll marry me,” Daryl said with a sigh. “It’s—‘cause I wanna give it to her. Can I do that, Merle? Or I gotta have your expressed fuckin’ permission to give her a present?” 

“You can give her any damn thing you want, brother. It don’t make no never-mind to me. I’m just—surprised. Hell—I ain’t even yankin’ your ass around. Not now that I see you’re serious.” 

Daryl stopped working for a second and looked at Merle.

“I never felt like this before,” he said sincerely. “Not about nobody.” 

“Not even that last girl you was gonna marry?” 

“I didn’t feel no kinda way about her. Not about—anybody. Not really. Not before. I know that shit now. I was hopin’ they could be what I wanted ‘em to be. I was hopin’ they could fill in a role for me. Hold a spot. But I didn’t feel it, Merle. I feel it now.” 

“The hell’s it feel like?” Merle asked.

Daryl’s stomach twisted. He might have told Merle to go to hell, but he could tell that his brother was being sincere. Merle said he wasn’t yanking him around, and he wasn’t. 

Daryl helped himself to a cigarette while he considered his answer. He ran a fingertip along the already carved lines of his artwork, cleaning out some of the wood shavings left behind by his carving tool. 

“Like—love, Merle,” Daryl said.

“But what the hell does that feel like, brother? It’s just some word. Some shit people throw around. People get in heavy fuckin’ lust and can’t tell the difference until their dick just don’t want that piece no more.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“It’s when a piece ain’t a piece no more,” Daryl said. “When that don’t matter. When it’s about the whole fuckin’ picture and you’re just as fuckin’ over the damn moon to see the way her nose crinkles up when she laughs—and to know you made her ass laugh like that—than you are to think you about to get to fuck her.” 

Merle’s face had lost any and all sign of bullshit. Merle had a sincere look. A calm look, really. It was a look that he rarely wore, but Daryl had always known that Merle was being as real as he could in the moments when everything else sort of fell away and there was nothing left but the relaxed expression of truth and transparency.

“You’re really serious,” Merle said.

“More’n I’ve ever been,” Daryl said. “Hell—I’m just…sittin’ out here workin’ on this and every single second I’m thinkin’ how much she’s gonna love it. What her face is gonna look like when I show it to her. In the next damn second, I’m scared to death she ain’t gonna like it and she’s gonna think it looks like a child made it. Like she’s—gonna kick me out the damn house and tell me never to come back for bringin’ her some sub-standard shit like this. And if she did that…”

Daryl turned back to the box. He half-heartedly worked at the petal he was carving, following his carefully sketched lines so that he could bring the picture to life—sure that it would never look like his mind’s eye wanted it to look.

“If she done that, what, Daryl?” Merle asked.

“I don’t know, Merle,” Daryl said with a sigh. 

“But you know she ain’t gonna do that,” Merle said. “It’s a good lookin’ box, Daryl.”

“It’s a trunk.” 

“Whatever. You gonna put a diamond in the big ass box, Daryl?” 

Daryl laughed to himself. His insides practically shook. It was nerve-wracking. The way that he felt was overwhelming. It was terrifying and exhilarating. It was exhausting and thrilling, all at the same time. He checked his phone every few minutes just to make sure that he hadn’t accidentally missed something—some text or call. He’d even googled a video to figure out how to replace his favorite beach scene, which he’d set as his background when he got the phone, with a picture that he’d taken of Carol smiling at him over breakfast at her table.

“If I knew she’d take it, Merle? That she wanted it?” 

“You really sunk, brother,” Merle mused.

“No,” Daryl said. “Opposite. I don’t feel sunk at all. Feel as fuckin’ high as I’ve ever felt in my whole damn life, Merle. Like I could run the whole circumference of Living Springs six times without givin’ out of energy. Wakin’ up in bed with her this morning, all I could think was…what if I did this every damn day of my life from now until…forever?” 

“Kinda quick…” Merle mused. “Soon?” 

Daryl sighed.

“Seems like a waste of damn time, don’t it? Know you wanna—start forever, but you gotta wait to do it. Like it’s gonna make more sense if you start it a year from now than it would if you just started it tomorrow.” 

“Hell, if you feel that way about it, why don’t’cha start it tomorrow? Tell her ass.”

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Like you said, too damn quick. Prob’ly scare her ass away, runnin’ up on her that fast.” 

“Well…” Merle mused, drawing the word out for an unnaturally long period of time as he searched for something to say. “You just—give her that box, Daryl. Take it from there. Besides—if you serious about this shit…”

“I am,” Daryl interrupted.

“I was sayin’ that if you serious about this shit, then…it don’t mean you don’t start forever tomorrow just ‘cause you don’t tell her about it.” 

Daryl put down the tool, again, and picked up his beer. He lit another cigarette for himself.

“I gotta admit,” he said, “I expected to catch a lot more hell from you. At least—I expected some hour-long speech about pussy and how you don’t want to get saddled to the same piece ‘cause it won’t be no damn good if you’ve already had it, or how there’s some expiration date on pussy or some shit like that.” 

Merle stared at him. The real Merle. The Merle that was under all the bullshit and the bravado. He pursed his lips in thought and nodded his head slowly. He helped himself to another cigarette from the pocket of his bathrobe.

“That what the hell I really sound like to you, brother?” Merle asked.

Daryl’s stomach tightened at the sound in Merle’s voice.

“Sometimes,” Daryl admitted.

Merle nodded in response.

“I weren’t gonna say—nothin’ about it,” Merle offered. He laughed quietly to himself. “I mean—pussy’s important, and don’t you go expectin’ me to change my mind about that, Daryl. But—maybe there’s somethin’ to be said about findin’ one that fits you right.” 

“You found one that…you’re thinkin’ fits you right, Merle?” Daryl asked.

Merle simply frowned at Daryl and leaned forward in his chair. 

“You’re puttin’ a lotta damn work into that trunk, Daryl. Your lil’ woman’s gonna like it. But—uh—when the hell I get to actually meet the woman that’s…that’s put such a damn spell on my baby brother?” 

“Don’t you say nothin’ to scare her ass off, Merle,” Daryl warned.

“That ain’t fair, brother,” Merle offered. “I already know your ass is talkin’ to Andrea whenever you damn well please.”

“Then you know I ain’t said shit to her that would make her turn tail and run,” Daryl said. 

“I wouldn’t fuck with your lil’ sweet thang,” Merle said. “I’m offended you would think that of me.” 

“Actually—I’m kinda glad you asked, Merle. Andrea talked to you about a party?” 

“A party?” 

Daryl smiled to himself.

“Tomorrow night, Merle. You gonna meet Carol. And you gonna get dressed up. Andrea’s gonna get dressed up. And we’re gonna meet all their friends.” 

“Like some kinda double date or something?” Merle asked.

“Just like that,” Daryl said. “Except—we’re goin’ to a party for the date.” 

“I don’t like parties,” Merle said. “I don’t know what the hell to do at ‘em.” 

“You talk to people. Like a normal person, Merle. Eat. Drink. Try to convince Andrea to let you come home with her.” Merle smiled to himself. “Can you do that, Merle?” Daryl asked in response to the expression. 

“Might not be too bad,” Merle mused. He stood up. “I’ll go to your party, Daryl. Meet your lil’ woman.” On his way out the door, he tossed a few more comments over his shoulder. “Trunk’s lookin’ good, Daryl. And I’m lookin’ forward to gettin’ to know the woman that’s done gone and got hooks in my brother.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. He turned back to his carving, determined to at least get a little bit more work done before he called it a night.

“Me too, brother,” he mumbled to himself since Merle had shuffled out the shop door and was headed back to the house. “Even if your ass is determined to pretend you can ignore your own damn hooks.”


	43. Chapter 43

AN: So, the party is really just a gathering to bring everyone together and help everyone have the opportunity to know who everyone else is as we move forward.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl picked Carol up at precisely the moment that she asked him to meet her at her house. She’d still been outside, on the front step, waiting for him, as though he were late. Instead, he discovered she’d just been anticipating his arrival. She’d also wanted a cigarette before they left and he’d gladly let her bum one. He’d sat in the truck and smoked one with her instead of immediately leaving for the party.

She’d already been where they were going. She and Jacqui had cooked for the gathering—because it was really a gathering more than a party—and they’d gone over at the end of their workday to set things up before Alice or Sadie even got there, since apparently the two women were living together despite the very short run of their relationship. Carol had run home to change clothes and wash off the day before Daryl arrived to pick her up. 

The gathering was casual—nothing fancy. It was only a chance for everyone to meet everyone else. It would be a couple of whirlwind hours of eating finger food, having a few drinks, and making some idle conversation before everyone went home to get ready for Thursday.

Carol was beautiful. She was wearing a dress that seemed somewhat wrapped around her and tied at her waist, even though the skirt flared out in the way her pretty little fifties-style dress had flared. It was a deep coral color. She wore flats and, despite the fact that it was a dress, she looked relaxed. She looked like she was as comfortable as if she’d been wearing pajamas. She wore very little makeup, as usual, if she was wearing any at all.

Daryl told her she was beautiful the moment he’d seen her—the words rushed out of his mouth immediately. What he didn’t tell her was everything else that pinballed through his mind, and that was mostly because he thought she would have gotten out of the truck immediately if he’d gone off on a tangent about how much he was growing sure, with each passing moment, even, that he loved her. He thought she might panic, too, if he told her that he wanted to be with her—so close to her—that he had the strange desire to almost consume her. The thought, which gave him an odd urge to taste her with his tongue, and even to nibble at her skin, made him sure she’d think he was a psychopath, even though he truly had no desire to really eat her, it was more of a sensation of longing that his brain seemed determined to interpret and reinterpret a million different ways.

If he told her how much she scrambled up his mind in the best way possible, she might not even take him to the party, so he kept those thoughts inside and kept their conversation light—a recounting of his day and questions about hers.

When they reached their destination, Daryl didn’t know any of the vehicles parked there. Merle had either not arrived, or he’d come in Andrea’s car—a vehicle that Daryl had seen, but not bothered to memorize.

“Do I look OK?” Carol asked before getting out of the truck. Daryl couldn’t help but laugh to himself.

“You gotta be kiddin’. You look incredible.” She smiled and her cheeks ran pink. It was thanks enough when she seemed to be struggling to figure out how to thank him for a genuine compliment—something she still seemed to be getting accustomed to hearing. “What are you worried about, anyway? It’s me that oughta panic. They’re your friends, and they’re gonna be judgin’ me like a side of beef.” 

“You’re incredible,” Carol offered. “And they’re going to know that.” 

The sincerity of her words hit Daryl like a tidal wave of warm water. It ran through him, and he didn’t fight it. 

“So—it’ll be a good night…” He said. It wasn’t what he wanted to say, and he immediately thought he should have said something better, but it was what fell out of his mouth, and Carol accepted it. 

“Merle’s going to be here,” Carol said. Daryl hummed and nodded his head. “He’s going to be—judging me. Like a side of beef, isn’t that what you said?” 

“You’re more like—a filet mignon,” Daryl offered with a wink. His need to take away that concerned look on Carol’s face suddenly outweighed his possible discomfort with the situation at hand. She smiled and face flushed a little pinker. “Merle ain’t gonna judge you,” Daryl said, knowing it was probably a lie. Merle would judge, but he would hopefully keep his opinions so himself—at least until he was in private—because Daryl had asked as much of him. “And even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. Not to me. But—if you want to? We’ll skip the whole damn thing. You say the word and we’ll just—go to the movies. I’ll buy my best girl some popcorn and candy, and we’ll blow the whole damn thing off.” 

The smile he got from Carol, at that moment, was worth any of it—any amount of scrutiny or judgment that possibly awaited him—anything. 

She leaned forward and he met her, kissing her deeply, hoping to transfer his feelings to her with nothing more than his lips.

“I can’t wear lipstick around you,” she teased, patting her lips with her fingertips as the kiss broke.

“Don’t need it,” Daryl insisted. “Beautiful without it. But if you want me to stop kissin’ you…”

“No,” she breathed out, shaking her head. “You ready to go meet everyone?” 

“Ready when you are.” 

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Daryl’s boss, Tyreese, was there. Merle and Andrea arrived late—and a little disheveled—and Andrea had trotted off directly to Alice’s bathroom to “fix her face” before she’d even started greeting people. Daryl felt like he’d seen most of the faces in the room around somewhere, but he moved quickly and introduced himself to everyone.

Tyreese’s wife, Michonne, was a very well put together woman. She was wearing high heels and a jacketless suit at the party, so Daryl assumed she must have come straight from work since she looked very formal in comparison to everyone else. Carol’s business partner, Jacqui, spent most of her time happily arranging food, refilling things, and practically force-feeding everyone. She was warm and Daryl immediately liked her. Her husband, whom Daryl had been introduced to as “T”, seemed bored from the moment he’d arrived, and he hung around Tyreese, ate copious amounts of food, and clearly waited for the thing to be over.

Carol’s friend, Alice, was obviously nervous. She had that way of being nervous that made her look jumpy—like she might rocket right up to the ceiling and get stuck there if someone were to drop something. She was wide-eyed, and her smile looked like it was uncomfortable, but she didn’t know how to drop it. Daryl had felt kind of sorry for her, and he’d brought her a replacement for her drink from the table that Jacqui tended with great attention.

“Thanks,” Alice said, taking the glass. “You’re Daryl.” 

Daryl smiled at her. 

“Good job,” he said. “You’re Alice. You doin’ alright?” 

She raised her eyebrows at him.

“That obvious?” She asked.

Daryl laughed to himself. One nervous person apparently called out to another in silent, panicked solidarity. He felt an almost instant kinship to the brunette. 

“What’s your girlfriend’s name again?” Daryl asked, tracking the short, curly-headed red-head that kept glancing toward Alice and smiling. 

“Sadie,” Alice said. 

“You say girlfriend?” Daryl asked. “Hell—I don’t meant o be like an ignorant asshole or nothin’, I just—don’t know this shit. It’s a learning experience for me.” 

Alice smiled. It was the first time that her smile had looked real and less like a painted-on smile. 

“No offense taken. People say different things,” Alice said. “But—we like girlfriend.” 

“Then that’s what I’ll say,” Daryl offered. “You nervous about her, or you nervous about you? Because she seems to be holdin’ her own pretty damn good. My asshole brother just asked her a couple minutes ago if she liked eatin’ pussy ‘cause that’d give ‘em somethin’ in common, an’ she ain’t missed a damn beat after she told him she thought she missed that and Andrea said he was just a pig and she didn’t miss a thing.” 

Alice nearly choked on a swallow of her drink and Daryl instinctively patted her back to urge her to cough the liquid out that was slowly seeping into her lungs. She wiped at her face, clearly finding that her drink had escaped a little through her nose as well as her mouth.

“Feel better?” Daryl asked.

“Yeah,” she said sincerely. “Thanks.” 

“No problem. These are your friends. Ain’t no need to be nervous.” 

“Mich kind of thinks we’re moving too fast,” Alice said, matter-of-factly. 

“Do you think you’re movin’ too fast?” 

“I like it,” Alice admitted. “I’d rather come home to Sadie being here than not.”

“Does Sadie think you’re movin’ too fast?” 

“It was her idea, actually,” Alice said. “I mean—she’s keeping her place, but it’s a just in case thing at this point and, honestly, I don’t think she’ll keep it long.”

“If you’re both for it, hell, you got my support,” Daryl offered. “For what the hell it’s worth, and I know that ain’t a damn thing right now.”

“Can I ask you something?” Alice asked, her face going serious for a moment.

“I got a good feelin’ you’re going to,” Daryl said. He searched Carol out as she helped Jacqui arrange some snacks on the table. She caught his eye and winked at him, giving him a smile. He couldn’t help but smile to himself. She seemed happier to see him interacting with her friends than anything else. He turned back to Alice. Her gaze was fixed on him, hard.

“What are your intentions?” 

“Wow,” Daryl remarked, taking a drink of his beer. “Right to the chase. You her actin’ old man or something?” 

“Does it make you nervous that I ask you that question?” Alice asked.

“Yeah,” Daryl said. “But—not for the reason you’re prob’ly thinkin’ it does. I’m goin’ to smoke. I’ma invite you to follow me.”

Alice did follow Daryl outside. On her porch, he lit a cigarette for himself and, when she asked for one, he lit hers as well. 

“Are you going to tell me out here?” She asked after a moment, “or did you come out here hoping I wasn’t going to follow your ass?” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Where your friend Michonne leaves off, you pick up with the judgin’?” He asked.

“I’m not judging. Not unless you’ve got a bad answer to that question. I’m only asking because—I care,” Alice said. “And I don’t mean that I think anything’s wrong with you or her…or anything. I’m happy she seems happy. The only concern I have is that—Carol’s been a work in progress since I met her. She’s been opening up. One layer at a time. And I’d rather see her alone and happy with herself than—destroyed by someone who didn’t know what the hell she was worth.” 

Daryl hummed to himself.

“Oh, believe me, I know what she’s worth.” 

Alice lightened a little and tasted her drink.

“Does that mean you’re not just using her?” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“If I hesitate to answer a single damn question you got, it ain’t because I’m hidin’ shit. It’s because—I’m not sure she’s ready for the whole damn truth of it all.” 

Daryl had braced himself for something, though he wasn’t actually sure for what he was preparing. Alice simply smiled.

“So, you—really like her?” Alice asked.

Daryl laughed to himself. It made his stomach tie itself into a knot to see her looking so pleased, but he welcomed it. He knew that he could already count Andrea as something of a friend, especially since the woman exchanged text messages with him nearly daily about Merle, and now he felt like he’d just found a sort of comradery with Alice—all for the price of a moment of comfort to someone who needed it.

“No,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t say that I—just like her. But—it’s a start. Just don’t say nothin’ to her, please? I don’t wanna say nothin’ until I know—she’s ready to hear it.” 

“Don’t hurt her,” Alice said, half as a supplication to Daryl and half as a warning.

“Trust me,” Daryl said. “It ain’t me hurtin’ her that I’m afraid of.” 

They were interrupted by the emergence of Sadie from the house. Daryl’s stomach twisted, for a second, in concern over what she might have overheard—and a touch of worry that things might get back to Carol too quickly. He remembered quickly, though, that Alice’s girlfriend was deaf and, as such, probably wasn’t too much of an eavesdropper.

“Are you running away together?” She asked, smiling at the two of them.

“Smoke,” Alice said, holding up a cigarette.

“You want one?” Daryl asked, yelling it directly at Sadie. 

She raised her eyebrows at him and smiled.

“I’m deaf,” she said. “You don’t have to yell. I won’t hear you. I can understand you better if you don’t.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Fair enough,” he said. “How’d you’d know I was yellin’?” 

“I read lips,” she said. “But—I also read bodies.”

Daryl thought it was a strange thing to say, but he didn’t question it. After all, he knew very little about her reality and experiences. He was only beginning to learn as he’d just met her that night.

She smiled softly at him and crossed her arms across her chest.

“I think Carol is looking for you,” she said. 

“She asked where I was?” Daryl asked.

“No,” Sadie said, shaking her head. “But—she looks like she lost something she wants to find.”

Daryl’s stomach did another of the all-too-familiar loops that it was accustomed to doing in situations pertaining to Carol. He finished his cigarette and looked around for an ashtray.

“Potted plant,” Sadie said, without the necessity of him asking the question. He nodded his head and stubbed his cigarette out in the potted plant, locating a few butts there that had been left behind by some other smoker. 

Nodding to Alice and Sadie, and leaving them to have a quiet moment together on the porch, he stepped back inside to find Carol and, if she was concerned about his whereabouts as Sadie insinuated, to relieve her concerns.


	44. Chapter 44

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

Because I know that people sometimes have random squicks, and because most of y’all know that I don’t back away from subjects that some people sometimes consider “awkward,” I’ll tell you that there’s some discussion of period sex in this chapter. Nothing graphic, but if that’s something that freaks you out that people would even consider such a thing while in a relationship, then you will want to tread carefully in the second section.

Also, I posted another chapter earlier today. If you haven’t read it, please make sure you read it. (And consider showing me some love, because it’s always appreciated to keep the muse cooperating!)

I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“You don’t have to wait,” Carol assured him. “I can catch a ride with Jacqui and T. They’ll drop me off.” 

She was tipsy. Daryl could tell it in the way she held herself. The slightly sleepy and relaxed nature that surrounded her told him what he needed to know. She wasn’t drunk—not by any means—but she was definitely tipsy. 

“I’m waitin’,” Daryl told her again, this time putting a bit more sternness behind his words so that she would stop trying to argue with him. “I’d help if you let me.” 

“It won’t take that long,” Carol said, shaking her head. “Not with Andrea helping, too. Just—relax. If you’re sure you won’t go home.” 

“I’ll be right here,” he offered.

Merle wasn’t leaving either. Everyone else had gone. Carol and Jacqui were insisting that nobody could help clean up—especially Alice and Sadie. They’d practically banished the two women to other parts of the house so that every move they made wouldn’t be interpreted as trying to help. The leftovers were being put away for them to eat later, and the dishes were being cleaned up and packed away in T and Jacqui’s car, where they would drop them by the café.

The man, T, who also liked to be called “T-Dog,” was focused on carrying things out to the car whenever they let him get his hands on things—a clear move to get his wife to go home with him as quickly as possible, as far as Daryl understood it—and was almost taking dishes out, one item at a time, to speed things alone.

Outside, Daryl sat down on the porch swing next to his brother. He bummed one of Merle’s cigarettes—too lazy to fish his own pack from his pocket—and Merle offered him a lighter.

“Andrea tell you that you could go home?” 

Merle hummed.

“Catch is, if I go home, I’m goin’ to our house,” Merle said. “There ain’t a lick of pussy at our house,” he finished with a snort.

“I can see why your ass is avoidin’ it. Still—ain’t like you to wait on a woman, Merle.” 

Merle grunted at him. Daryl smiled to himself. 

Merle had been on his best behavior—though there was a certain margin of expectation when it came to Merle’s behavior versus, perhaps, the behavior of any truly civilized soul. Daryl had watched him, interested to see Merle in something of a truly foreign habitat. 

Daryl’s brother, who would sometimes wax poetic about not letting any woman get close enough to even inconvenience him, had certainly not pushed off the blonde that had, more than once, casually threaded her arm through his and, a few times, even, had hugged his arm tightly and stood with her head against him.

Merle had brought her drinks, and snacks, and, once, Daryl had caught him coaxing her to take some kind of rolled up dessert item from his hands. She had taken it, too, following his urging, and Daryl hadn’t missed the smile that had flitted across Merle’s lips—wiped away after only a second—at successfully convincing Andrea to literally eat from his hands. 

He wasn’t ready to admit, though, what he was trying to ignore—and what he seemed to believe that nobody else could see. And Andrea, for her part, didn’t seem to be pushing him. She seemed content to live in the quiet little cloudy space that he’d made for their relationship—some kind of realm where it was there, when he wanted it, but ceased to exist when he needed or wanted to look away.

“Good pussy,” Merle grumbled. 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Long as that’s all it is, right?” He mused.

“What about you?” Merle asked. “From where I’m sittin’, you out here waitin’ too.”

“I ain’t waitin’ on just the pussy, Merle,” Daryl offered. 

“I reckon I know you ain’t,” Merle said.

“I reckon I know you ain’t, either,” Daryl challenged.

Merle snorted at him, but he didn’t deny it. 

“I ain’t criticizing, brother, but…your woman’s a lil’ bit on the thin side,” Merle said. “Skinny, really.” 

“Asshole ex got her real hung up on weight,” Daryl offered. “But she’s gettin’ better about it. Don’t stress near as much as she did in the beginning.” 

“You know my theory—if she don’t like to eat good, she ain’t gonna fuck good. All comes down to enjoyin’ the pleasures of the body.” 

“Andrea ain’t exactly overflowin’ her clothes,” Daryl offered.

Merle laughed to himself.

“Asshole exes and all,” he muttered. “If you heard her talk, you’d think that we was in the business of lookin’ to reinforce the damn bed frame just to hold her ass. Still—what she’s got, she knows how to store in all the right places. Like you say, she’s loosenin’ up a little.” 

“My point is that—maybe your theory ain’t right,” Daryl said.

“Andrea don’t eat enough, maybe, because she’s scared of it,” Merle said. “But when she does eat? She gets all into it. Same as she does with everything else.” 

“Carol loves food,” Daryl offered. “When she eats it.” He left it at that. It was enough for Merle to understand his point.

“She’s a pretty lil’ thing,” Merle offered. 

“She is,” Daryl agreed.

“Pretty eyes.” 

“Real pretty.” 

“I can see why you’d like her,” Merle said. 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“You ain’t been around her but an evening,” he said. “You can’t even see the half of it.” 

“When you givin’ her the box?” Merle asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

“Ain’t done,” he said. 

“The hell you got left to do?” Merle asked. “You ain’t hardly done shit else except work an’ go to her house when she calls. All your other time’s been spent with that box.” 

“Gotta stain it,” Daryl said. “Get the hardware on it. Maybe this weekend if I can get it done.” 

Merle laughed quietly.

“Scared to do it?” 

“Damn near gives me the shits to think about it,” Daryl admitted. 

Merle slapped him on the back and squeezed the back of his neck roughly—one of the few signs of affection that Merle allowed himself, and those were only doled out on occasion. 

“She’s gonna like your box, brother,” Merle offered. “Hell—prob’ly gonna throw her box at’cha in response.”

The comment, at least, untangled some of Daryl’s worry.

“You’re a pig, Merle.” 

“I know,” Merle said. “But your ass’d be surprised at how fuckin’ popular bacon is, brother.”

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Carol stood holding Daryl’s hand between both of her own. He moved in to kiss her again and boldly swung his free hand closer—allowing it to brush against her. She swallowed back her smile so as to not break the kiss, but she knew that he knew exactly what he was doing. Brushing against her dress, he let his fingers find the juncture between her legs as they kissed. He swept his fingers quickly, back and forth, against her—just enough to rub her and tease her through everything that separated him from her clit.

She moaned when he found the perfect spot, and she swayed forward, silently requesting a touch more pressure and attention. He obliged, but pulled away too soon. 

He smiled at her in the light of her front porch.

“Asshole,” she said. His smile only grew.

“What?” He asked, poorly feigning innocence.

“You can’t just do that,” she said. 

“I didn’t do anything,” he said.

“How’d you like it if I did that to you?” She challenged. 

“Do what?” 

“Touch you like that,” Carol said. “Just—touch you and try to…leave you on go.” 

He shook his head at her. 

“You don’t even have to touch me to leave me on go,” he said. “I’m hard any time I’m around you. I’m hard right now.” 

Carol’s face ran warm. Her whole body was hot. She could have easily convinced herself that it was the dead of summer—noon even—for the heat she felt radiating through her body. The slight chill around them couldn’t even begin to penetrate the feeling that boiled up inside of her at the moment.

Ed had never made her feel this way. Not even when she was young. Not even when the relationship was new. Not even when she still loved him and he hadn’t hurt her yet.

She’d heard women talk about being hot for men before—or for women, in the case of her friends who were so inclined—but she’d never actually felt that sensation. She’d figured it was a nothing more than a turn of a phrase or a figure of speech. She was hot for Daryl, though. She would actually sweat—as unladylike, perhaps, as that might be—from little more than her desire to be with him, and her body would be soaked and slick after their efforts to satiate each other’s desires.

There was an almost painful throbbing between her legs, where his fingers had teasingly brushed her. 

“Asshole,” Carol teased. “You are not.” 

“Mmm…” He hummed, moving in to kiss her again. As soon as she brought her lips to his, he took her hand, pulling one free from the hand she was holding, and moved it against the obvious bulge in his pants. “I’m always hard for you,” he whispered.

She gasped into his mouth, almost sure that she could spontaneously combust—or that he might see steam rising off of her in the light of the front porch light.

“Unlock the door,” Daryl offered. “Before your neighbors call the cops on us or somethin’.” 

Carol laughed to herself, thankful for the teasing. She kept holding his hand tight with the one that he hadn’t pulled away. Realization and reality flooded her mind with a heavy sinking sadness.

“I can’t,” she said.

“Lost your keys?” Daryl asked.

“I mean—I can’t do anything,” Carol said. “I can’t—invite you in, Daryl.” 

Daryl frowned at her. 

“Merle say some shit to you?” 

“What?” 

“The hell’d he say?” Daryl asked. 

“What are you talking about?” 

Daryl pulled his hand away and, when Carol held tight to it, her stomach knotting with concern and confusion, he pried his fingers out of hers.

“Are you serious? Just like that? You’re fuckin’ with me one minute and—what? Breakin’ up with me the next?” 

Carol heard the sharpness in his voice—the hardness. The pain. She heard his voice quiver, slightly, as he forced a bit more strength into his words. The sound, alone, tore at her chest and closed up her throat. 

“What? No!” She spat, choking on the words as her throat constricted. “No…no…” she stammered, reaching for him again.

He let himself be caught, and Carol wrapped her arms around him. Suddenly, her heart was pounding in that way that followed fear—absolute, real fear. For one brief second, she’d lost him—was losing him—and it had instantly created a truly profound feeling of loss, sadness, and emptiness. That realization, slowly seeping over her, was frightening in itself.

Carol only realized her face was damp when Daryl wiped his hand across it.

“I don’t understand what the hell is goin’ on,” Daryl said. “I’m confused as hell. You just told me you don’t want me here.”

“I said I couldn’t invite you in,” Carol said.

“That don’t make no sense,” Daryl said. “Unless you’re tryin’ to break up with me or something.” 

“Why would I do that?” Carol asked.

“Why the hell would you tell me you can’t invite me in—like I never been here before. Like you’re sayin’ I’m not welcome here. I can practically hear some shit like—I like you, but not like that or it’s not you, it’s me.” 

Carol frowned at him. His hurt was painful to her, and it was plainly on the surface. She hadn’t seen it much before. She hadn’t paid it enough attention. She reached her hand up and touched his cheek. 

“I like you like that,” she offered. “And—there’s nothing wrong with you, though…I’m sure there’s plenty wrong with me.” 

For the moment, he didn’t negate what she said. He looked at her with sadness in his eyes and a hard crease between his brows—the kind that seemed put on like he was building a wall between them. 

He was protecting himself from her. 

She never wanted him to have to protect himself from her. 

“I only meant, Daryl, that…I can’t have sex with you tonight.”

His whole body relaxed so instantly that he almost looked, for just a brief second, like he might melt into a puddle right there on the porch.

“That’s it?” He asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

“I just told you that—I’m not having sex with you tonight,” she said. “And it doesn’t bother you at all?” 

“I mean if you’re askin’ me if I’d rather have sex with you or not have sex with you, then I guess the answer is I’d rather have sex with you,” Daryl said. “But in the grand scheme of things, it don’t matter like—me thinkin’ you’re about to tell me to fuck off.” 

“For the record,” Carol said, still feeling a little tense from the lingering effects of the hardness that Daryl seemed able to wrap around himself as protection, “I’ve never thought of telling you to fuck off.” 

“You just—tired…or…’cause it’s Wednesday?” Daryl asked.

Carol smiled at his sincerity, and the change that took place as his features fully softened to her again.

“You really want to know the truth?” She asked. “Even if—it messes up your image of me or whatever?”

Daryl laughed to himself, a little nervously.

“You makin’ human sacrifices on account of the moon or some shit like that?” He asked.

Carol was amused—mostly because he didn’t exactly sound like that was a complete deal breaker for him.

“It’s got to do with the moon, maybe,” Carol said. “But no human sacrifices. I’m on my period, Daryl. It started this morning.” 

“Oh,” Daryl said. “And I guess—you don’t feel like it when you’re…doin’ that? Makes you like—not horny?” 

“Oh—it makes me a different level of horny entirely, Carol said with a laugh. 

“Then—why the hell we discussin’ it?”

“Because you’d be—disgusted,” Carol said. 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“Carol—I ain’t gonna push. I’ma respect whatever the hell you want. But—I been guttin’ deer since I was able to stay on my feet and not just fall the fuck in their bellies. The last damn thing I am is squeamish about a little blood. Besides—it’s natural, ain’t it? I mean—just what the hell happens.” 

“You’ve done it before?” Carol asked. “With some woman?” 

“No,” Daryl said.

“Then how do you know it doesn’t bother you?” 

“Because—nothin’ about you bothers me,” Daryl said. “Look—last damn thing I want is to make you uncomfortable. And—it’s kinda late. So—I’ma go home. OK? You don’t gotta worry about it no more. You just—tell me when you want me to come back.” 

Daryl touched her face. He slipped his fingers under her chin. She closed her eyes as his lips touched hers. Immediately, her body lit up—the fire inside her instantly ignited again. The kiss was soft, and sweet, and hungry all at the same time.

And Carol’s chest ached at the thought that, as soon as s the kiss broke, Daryl was going home. 

She loved her home. She loved her solitude. She had made a place where she was happy.

But, suddenly, she ached to think of him leaving.

She caught his hand when he pulled out of the kiss.

“Please don’t go. Stay?” She said, surprising herself at how desperate the words sounded as they escaped her. 

He smiled to himself.

“Nowhere I’d rather be,” he offered.


	45. Chapter 45

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I’ve posted two others today, so please don’t miss them, and don’t forget to show some love and support for those as well! 

I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think! 

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“I don’t want you doin’ more’n just breathin’ down my neck an’ shit,” Daryl said. “Wouldn’t want you to inconvenience your ass or nothin’.” 

Daryl carried the wooden box to the truck and carefully placed it on the old sheet he’d put there. He wrapped it in the other sheet he’d brought out, protecting it from damage, and started to arrange bungee cords to keep it in place. 

Merle snorted and walked around near him, smoking a cigarette, wearing his ridiculous green tartan bathrobe. 

It was late on Friday night—at least, it was late for them, though Daryl knew that there were plenty of young people who would consider the night barely beginning.

“I didn’t wanna help you, brother, so you don’t get dependent on it,” Merle said. “Won’t do you no fuckin’ good when you get that box where it’s goin’ if I ain’t there to help you get it down.”

“Ain’t you damn near a saint?” Daryl mused.

“Glad you finally recognized it. I’m sure it’s only a time ‘fore the Vatican gives my ass a call.” 

“Why the hell you sniffin’ around my ass, anyway?” Daryl asked. “It’s Friday night, Merle. Ain’t—you goin’ to Andrea’s or she’s comin’ here or somethin’?”

“Ridin’ the cotton pony,” Merle said. 

“So?” Daryl asked.

“So,” Merle said, not really making it clear how he expected Daryl to respond.

“So—put on a wetsuit an’ get swimmin’,” Daryl said with a snort. “A damn preacher of pussy such as you can be, and you’re scared away by—what, Merle? A little blood?” 

“Hell, no, brother,” Merle said. “Ain’t me. It’s her. Said she was horny as fuck. Hell—I offered to go vampire, if that was what the hell she needed, but she says that shit makes her self-conscious. Then she fuckin’ cried about it. You know I can’t handle the tears an’ snot shit.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Sometimes—the tears an’ snot ain’t so bad, Merle,” Daryl offered. “You find out a lotta shit among all of that. And when you get to the end of it—it ain’t so bad. Stayin’ for the tears an’ snot mighta got your ass a ticket to stay for the rest of it.”

Merle smirked at him.

“You proposin’ to give me advice on women, now, lil’ brother?” Merle asked.

“Call it what you want,” Daryl said. “But—you’re standin’ in the yard in your bath robe, brother, and I got an overnight bag in my car packed for the whole damn weekend.”

Merle laughed quietly to himself. 

“Good luck, brother,” Merle said. “Hope she loves the hell outta your box.” 

“What’cha gonna do all weekend, Merle?” 

Merle shrugged.

“I’ll think of somethin’,” he said. 

“If it matters to you,” Daryl said, “they really like chocolate when they raggin’. And one of them good movies might go over all right with a lil’ bit of bein’ nice to her an’ lovin’ her soft like.” 

Merle nodded his head. He laughed to himself.

“Relationship guru,” he mused. “I’ll keep it in mind. Go on. I’ll close up out here.”

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Daryl carried the box inside, still wrapped in the sheet. It was as close to wrapping paper as he could come for the small trunk. He ignored, as best he could, that he was so nervous that his breathing was involuntarily shallow and he felt slightly dizzy. He could feel his own muscles tensing up, and parts of him felt like they shook with anticipation.

Carol followed behind him in her pajamas, closing the door and locking it. She’d put the tailgate on the truck up for him without him asking. She followed him to the bedroom where he rested the box—sheet and all—on the floor.

“Is this the box you were making?” She asked.

“Finished it,” he said. The last accounts she’d really had of the box was his original plan—just a box to be shoved in a closet somewhere. He’d told her he was taking the stuff home to work on it, mostly so he could sand it down and treat the wood, but she had no idea that he’d created what he had.

He was nervous and excited for her to see it, the two emotions blending and battling, simultaneously, inside him.

“Why don’t you—unwrap it?” Daryl asked.

Carol looked at him with a look of confusion and slight amusement on her face.

“The box?” She asked. He nodded. “OK,” she ceded. She walked over and Daryl backed up to give her space. He’d wanted it to be bigger, but he hadn’t wanted to make it huge—if it was too large, she might not want it. She might not want it to be a display piece in her room. She might prefer that it go in a closet or tucked in a corner. He’d made it the right size for tucking in a corner—just in case. Carol pushed the sheet back. It didn’t take much for it to fall around the box and puddle on the floor.

She looked at him, and he couldn’t read her expression. It looked, though, like she might not be sure of the emotion she was even trying to put behind it.

“Daryl it’s…beautiful.” 

“You think so?” Daryl asked.

She ran her hand over the wood. She traced the carving with her fingertips. She moved the metal latch that kept it shut and looked inside before she closed it and caressed it again. Then she straightened up to face him.

“It’s incredible,” she said. “You made this?” 

Daryl nodded.

“Yeah,” he managed to get out.

“Why?” Carol asked. “I mean—it’s too much.”

“I told you I was gonna make you a box,” Daryl said.

“This is too much,” Carol said again.

Daryl laughed to himself. She looked a little overwhelmed and he caught her arms, squeezing them in his hands. 

“It’s just a wooden box, Carol,” Daryl said. “A little hope chest—or trunk—or whatever you want to call it.” 

“But it’s beautiful,” she protested.

“I’m glad you think it’s beautiful,” Daryl said. “I wanted you to think it was beautiful. The whole damn time I was makin’ it, I was half-excited you would like it and half-terrified you’d hate it.” 

“Why would I hate this?” Carol asked. 

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m no artist.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“Figured you’d think—the carvin’ looks like a kid done it.” 

“It’s amazing. And it’s even more beautiful because—you made it for me. Nobody’s ever made me something so beautiful before.” 

“Can you—tell what it is? The carvin’ I mean?” 

Carol looked at it. She looked back at him and smiled. 

“It’s—a Cherokee Rose,” she said.

Daryl nodded. His stomach violently knotted itself. He could back out. He could close his mouth right now. He could just accept that she liked his gift, and he could leave it at that. She was almost off her period—practically off of it. It wasn’t even really messy anymore. She’d be more than happy to just curl up with him and love with him in the bed or on the couch. Maybe she’d tell him they should select something from the bags—which would soon be transferred to the box—to play a little before they turned in for bed.

Daryl could leave it as it was and enjoy her company without risk of pushing her or alienating her in any way.

But he wasn’t sure that he could stand not telling her his truth. He was honest to a fault, after all, and part of that was because he’d never been very good at living with things that he couldn’t simply say out loud and into the air around him.

“Do you know—why it’s a Cherokee Rose?” He asked.

Carol looked at him with a quick look of concern or confusion. Her smile wasn’t as sincere as before.

“Because—it’s the state flower?” She asked.

Daryl shook his head.

He’d been thinking of this speech for days—every time he worked on the box, he thought of what he would say. If he said this—she might tell him to go home. She might not invite him back. She might think it was too much, and far too soon. If he didn’t say it, he wasn’t sure that he could breathe normally for much longer in her presence. 

“Is something wrong, Daryl?” Carol asked.

“Sit down,” Daryl said, directing her toward the bed. She obeyed him very quickly, and he wondered if he’d put a little too much force behind his words. He persevered. “The legend of the Cherokee Rose is about the Trail of Tears. Mothers on the trail were cryin’. Weepin’ because—as they went, starvin’, and sufferin’, and leavin’ their home behind, they were losin’ their little ones along the way. So, the elders—they prayed about it. Prayed that the spirits would give the mothers somethin’ to lift up their spirits. Give ‘em hope—to keep on goin’. Next day, these Cherokee Roses started springin’ up, everywhere the mothers’ tears fell. Gave ‘em hope that…maybe it weren’t all lost. Maybe they’d find their little ones someday.”

Daryl had only meant the legend as background information, but Carol was wiping at her eyes when he finished it.

“I didn’t know that,” she offered softly. “Daryl—that’s beautiful.” 

He nearly laughed. 

“I’ve always loved the legend,” Daryl said, “but—it weren’t my point.” 

“Oh,” Carol said. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Daryl said. “Shit—honestly—I oughta thank you. I’m feelin’ a little better now.” 

“Better?” Carol asked.

“I got to tell you something,” Daryl said. “The reason I—put that flower on there.” 

Carol nodded her head gently. 

“Go ahead,” she offered. 

Daryl sucked in a breath, held it a second, and blew it out. He stilled himself.

Carol was beautiful. She was everything he’d ever dreamed a woman could be—imagined she could be. But, unlike the women on movies that didn’t exist—or even the ones in the books she let him borrow that weren’t real—Carol was real. She was a flesh and blood woman. He could hold her. He could feel the warmth of her body. He’d almost memorized how parts of her felt underneath his fingertips and palms. He could smell her. He knew that different parts of her smelled different ways—even fresh out of the shower. He knew what she tasted like. He’d tasted every part of her.

She was under his skin in the best way possible, and she was a woman of flesh and blood.

And he knew, at that moment, he’d get on his knees and beg her not to turn him away if she tried—pride didn’t matter at all.

He resolved himself to tell her his truth.

“I gotta tell you—my truth,” he said, giving word to his thoughts. “I—never told my whole truth to nobody.”

She looked at him, brow-furrowed and wide-eyed. 

“I’m listening,” she said. 

“You know—I’ve told you—what I always wanted,” Daryl said. She nodded her head, just barely. “Like them movies and all. A home. Warm and—warm and full. Of love. A family. A woman. A wife. Someone I could love like they seem to love on them movies. Someone who—who could maybe love me back like that.” 

Her chest was heaving. He could see the rapid rise and fall. Other than that, though, she kept herself still and appeared to be almost stone as she listened to him and gave him space to say what he needed to say. 

“I’d really given up. If we’re bein’ honest. I mean—maybe I didn’t wanna tell myself I’d given up, but…I had. Resigned myself to the fact that it was all fairy tales and make believe anyway. Especially for me. I mean—I’m a Dixon. I come from shit. Honest to goodness shit. Everyone in Livin’ Springs knows it. Grew up knowin’ I weren’t worth my own salt.”

“Daryl…” Carol said. Daryl held his hand out to her. 

“Please? If I don’t finish it, I won’t.” 

“OK,” Carol said, nodding her head and settling back into her spot where she’d started to rise.

“I started to believe it weren’t real and it weren’t gonna happen for me. Just weren’t—meant to be. Figured—I’d have to learn to be content to stay my ass in a house with Merle forever and ever. Resigned to my fate. Figured—he’d die eventually. Leave me good and alone. End of story. And nobody would give a shit, no way, because who the hell mourns you when you’re dead, especially when nobody even cared about your ass alive?”

“Daryl…” Carol breathed out. But when he shook his head at her, she closed her mouth, and held her spot.

“My point is, I’d given up hope, Carol. I was just gonna live—day to day—‘til there weren’t no more livin’ to do. Just like that. Hell—I don’t even know what I was doin’ at Salty’s that night. I don’t go to Salty’s. I don’t like one-night stands, and I don’t like what the hell I knew was the normal clientele of the bar. Went to have a drink and listen to music. That was it. Didn’t expect to meet nobody. Sure as shit didn’t mean to meet you. But I did meet you. And then, instead of just wakin’ up to get to the next time I was goin’ to sleep, I started—lookin’ forward to something, Carol. First, it was if you was gonna call. Then it was a text. Then it was seein’ you. Now it’s—always seein’ you the next time. Whether that’s a week away, or just the next time I open my eyes and you’re there. My fuckin’ point, if I can ever get to it, is that—you give me hope, Carol. You give me hope that—maybe it ain’t all fairy tales and make believe. Maybe—I get a chance to get what I want. Have what I want and—be what I want. I’m tryin’ to say you’ve been my Cherokee Rose. A sign to—keep goin’. Keep hope.” 

“Daryl…” Carol said again. This time, though, she didn’t let him shush her or urge her to sit. She practically launched herself at him and wrapped around him. She held him hard—harder than he thought she’d be capable of doing. He wrapped his arms around her and held her back.

“You can ask me to leave,” he said. “And I’ll go if you want me to. Hell—I know it’s fast. Way too fuckin’ fast. And I know—you’re prob’ly scared. I’m scared. And I meant what the hell I told you before, Carol. We can go as slow as you want. Crawl if that’s what makes you happy. But—I love you. I can’t help it. Even if I don’t say it, I love you.” 

Carol pulled away. Her face was streaked with dampness, and droplets were suspended in her lashes.

“Will you hate me if I tell you—I can’t help but feel scared?” She asked.

Daryl’s chest tightened. He hugged her, gently, and kept his eyes on her.

“I wouldn’t even hate you if you told me to get the hell out forever,” Daryl said. “I could never hate you.”

“I’m scared,” Carol said.

“It’s OK,” Daryl said. “I am, too. But whatever you need to—feel less scared? We’ll get it for you. We’ll figure it out.” 

She laughed to herself. 

“What about you?” She asked. “Shouldn’t we get you what you need to feel less scared?” 

“You’re all the hell I need, Carol,” Daryl said. 

“Daryl?” 

“Hmmm?” 

“I love you, too.”


	46. Chapter 46

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

Again, there’s a warning for the mention (not terribly detailed) of period sex since it squicks some people out. 

I wrote three chapters yesterday, so if you missed them, please read them first. Also, don’t forget to drop me a little love on those chapters if you enjoyed them! 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl woke first and noticed the light in the bedroom. They’d slept in, and it was later than a typical morning for either of them. There wouldn’t be this much sunlight on a typical morning. 

Daryl smiled to himself at the thought of a typical morning.

There was a certain comfort behind that thought—a profound sense of belonging. He was beginning to find something “typical” in waking up next to the woman who was still lost in sleep at his side. He was beginning to piece together the mundane—what time she woke up for work, what time they normally woke on the weekends, what kind of coffee she preferred, and how she liked to drink her coffee. Even the sound of her light snoring warmed Daryl’s chest.

Next to him, in the bed and lost to him for just a little while longer to the dream world, was the woman that he loved. 

The woman that he loved. The only woman he had ever loved. The woman he dared to think would be the only woman that he ever would love. The love of his life.

Daryl had known that he loved Carol for days—weeks, even—and for far more time than felt admissible given the shortness of their relationship. He didn’t really believe in love at first sight. He dismissed it as another one of those things that happened on his movies and was never really true for actual people. He’d always believed that love was something you had to work for—not just to keep, but to achieve. 

It hadn’t been that way with Carol at all. He’d simply realized that he loved her—completely.

Finally, he’d been able to give voice to those words—to the thoughts that had been haunting him. He loved her. 

If she’d asked him not to say it because the words frightened her, he would have stopped saying it, but he wouldn’t have stopped feeling it. He would have kept the words inside, though, and simply let the feeling run out of him and flow over them, if that’s what she’d wanted.

But it wasn’t what she wanted. And she’d told him she loved him, too.

Her voice saying those words echoed in Daryl’s skull like a heartbeat during a hangover. They repeated and reverberated. Unlike the nagging pounding of a hangover headache, though, the words echoing in Daryl’s mind were beautiful. 

She loved him. 

She loved him because she wanted to. She loved him because, like him, she couldn’t help it. She loved him because there was something about him that she felt drawn to love. She didn’t love him just because she was family and obligated to do so. She loved him entirely out of choice.

Daryl had never been loved like that before, and he’d almost convinced himself that nobody could ever love him that way, so it was especially incredible to him that someone as beautiful and as wonderful as Carol could love him.

But she did.

And she’d told him so several times. She’d repeated the words, like he had—as though she needed to taste them, roll them around on her tongue, and experience them in a variety of different ways to be sure that she got all the good off of them. 

As two people who loved each other and dared to say the words, they’d made love for the first time. Daryl had kept his eyes closed most of the time, drinking in every sensation like it was the first time that he’d ever been invited to partake of Carol’s body—of any woman’s body. It was the first time that he was making love with the woman that he loved, and the woman who actually said she loved him back. He’d opened his eyes only to look into hers, from time to time, and to check to make sure that she was enjoying it as much as he was. 

For the first time, he’d allowed himself to mutter “I love you,” in her ear as he’d held her, her whole body trembling as pleasure overtook her and nature made her clamp hard and tight around him, inviting him to come following after her into a temporary sexual oblivion.

And when he’d come and collapsed beside her, she’d come curling next to him, practically bathing his face in kisses, and she’d repeated the words that were precious to him, just in case he might have forgotten them. Those kisses hadn’t stopped passing between them even as they both retreated, together this time, to the bathroom to wash up and returned, clean and dressed for bed, to lie down together and sleep.

She was still sleeping, and Daryl eased out of the bed as gently as he could to keep from waking her. Daryl took careful inventory of everything—the typical, the mundane, the usual that they were just beginning to build together. Usually, she slept naked with him, but with her period ending, she preferred to wear underwear to bed. He gently pulled the blankets up over her, shielding her from the cold while she finished her sleep. The towel they’d used to protect the sheets was balled up on the floor—discarded when they came back to bed. Daryl felt responsible—a contributing member of the household, even—when he picked it up and, as he went to the bathroom, dropped it in the hamper to be washed. He relieved himself, washed his hands, and then he washed his face and looked at himself in the mirror.

If he didn’t know that it wasn’t some foolish trick of his mind, he would have sworn that he looked different. 

Being in love—and knowing that the woman he loved actually loved him back—made him look different. It made everything look different. The bathroom, lit only by the sunlight coming in through the window looked different. The cool water felt different on his hands and face. He turned the tap back on, scooped up some water in his hand, and swallowed it down. Against his sleep-parched throat, it felt and tasted different.

Everything was crisper. Brighter. More alive.

Daryl felt more alive. More than that, he felt more like his life had a purpose. He had a reason to keep on living other than simply riding the big spinning ball as it rotated around the sun. 

Daryl eased back through the bedroom, avoiding anything that might disturb Carol, and slipped into the main part of the house. In the kitchen, he started coffee. He took inventory of the fridge and cabinets. He wouldn’t cook breakfast until later, when Carol was awake, but he liked thinking about what he might make for her. 

She didn’t wake until he was on the porch, in his jeans, drinking a cup of coffee and smoking a cigarette. She came out with her nightgown and socks on, carrying her own cup of coffee, probably enjoying the cool air on her bare skin the same way that he was.

She was beautiful, and the sun shone around her like it was made just to frame her beauty in the morning.

“Feel OK?” Daryl asked. 

“Fine,” Carol said. “Thank you for making coffee. You didn’t have to do that.” 

“Weren’t nothin’ but a thing, and I drink it, too.” 

“You should have woken me.”

“To make me coffee? I’d rather let you sleep. Stomach feelin’ OK?” 

Daryl knew that she’d told him that she had cramps with her period and that, sometimes, it just made her feel bad. She didn’t really complain about it, though, and he imagined that she’d been taught not to complain about anything. She reddened a little at the question.

“Better,” she said. “Honestly—I think—it helps. When we…you help.”

Daryl kind of liked the idea that he could help alleviate any discomfort that Carol might have.

“Any time I can help, count me in,” he said. He sat there a moment, enjoying the silence of the morning with her. Finally, to help his own stomach, which had begun knotting, he broke the silence. “You—haven’t changed your mind about anything, have you?” 

Carol looked at him, brow-furrowed. 

“What?” She asked.

“I mean—I could understand if you changed your mind,” Daryl said. “Or maybe you realized that you said shit that you didn’t mean because of the heat of the moment or whatever. Shit happens like that. Did it—happen to you? Did you change your mind about…how you feel?” 

Carol smiled to herself. She still looked sleepy around her eyes.

“Are you asking me if I still love you, Daryl? Because—I do. That didn’t change. At least, not for me. Did it change for you?” 

Hearing her say it again—so sincerely, and so very matter-of-factly—made Daryl’s heart pound in his chest.

“I couldn’t change my mind if I wanted,” he said. “But I don’t want to.” 

“Good,” Carol said. She offered a hand over from her chair to his, and he put his coffee mug down to free a hand to hold hers. She rubbed her thumb over his fingers lazily.

“You still scared?” He asked.

“I’m afraid that I’m going to be scared for a while,” Carol said.

Daryl accepted that. He was more than willing to accept that. He’d been prepared for it. As long as she was simply saying that she was scared, and she was going to need him to help her through her fear, he could handle that. He could hold her hand as often as she needed, for as long as she wanted. She was scared, but she was facing her fear. She wasn’t turning him away, and he wouldn’t shame her for her feelings—someone had done that enough.

“You wanna talk about it? About—anything that makes you scared?” 

She squeezed his hand in hers and dropped her hand. 

“Can I—have a cigarette?” She asked.

“Have the whole pack, if you want,” he said, picking it up from the little table between them and passing it over. She took one from the pack and thanked him when he flicked the lighter and held it out so that she could lean into it and light the cigarette.

“I guess—part of me just remembers that I loved Ed. I thought he loved me. It was in the name of love that I married him. And things weren’t terrible in the beginning. It was a progressive movement toward what he became. What our relationship became. Everything I allowed, and everything I excused, I did in the name of love.” 

“He hurt you in the name of love,” Daryl offered. “In a lot of different ways.” 

“I’m afraid so,” Carol admitted.

Daryl hummed and nodded.

“I understand that,” he said. “I get—how it’s gotta be scary and all. But, Carol—that was Ed. It ain’t me.” 

“I know that,” Carol said. “And—I don’t mean to say that it is you, or that you’ve done anything wrong. You haven’t, Daryl. You’ve done nothing wrong, I’m just…”

Daryl could hear how her words changed. They got higher and faster. They became coated with something like panic. Her body entered into an almost automatic response—one she’d been very well trained to have—where she had to be profusely and rapidly apologetic to avoid whatever might be coming next. Giving offense, after all, would probably not end well with someone else.

“Hey,” Daryl said, loudly and sharply enough to interrupt her words. She stopped sudden. “It’s OK. OK? I’m not—pissed off. I’m not even inconvenienced. That’s your truth. You loved him. He told you he loved you. He hurt you an’ you ain’t to blame for what you suffered, OK? What the hell he done to you? That’s on him, it ain’t on you. And I’m not pissed that you’re rememberin’ what the hell happened to you the last time you fell in love.”

Her hand shook as she brought the cigarette to her mouth and drew off of it. Her chin quivered. Daryl’s chest constricted and his throat tightened.

“I love you,” he said again. The words sounded no less wonderful than they had the first time he’d said them. “And all I’m going to do is keep reminding you that—I’m not him. I’ve never hurt you. And I won’t hurt you. At least, not on purpose.” 

“You’re wonderful,” Carol said. “And—I think that part of me feels like…you can’t possibly be real.” 

Daryl felt a strange sort of twisting in his gut.

“You think I don’t feel the same way about you?” He asked. “I’ve waited a whole damn lifetime to find you. Watched a thousand of them movies to just imagine what the hell it might be like to find you. And now I find you and, honestly? You’re so much better than I ever thought you even could be. It doesn’t seem real. Seems impossible. Like somebody like me don’t get an honest to goodness angel.” 

Carol laughed to herself and wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. 

“I’m just a normal woman,” she said. “Not even a very—impressive one.” 

“You say that,” Daryl said. “But you’re every damn thing I ever wanted and more. So—I don’t know. You do with that what the hell you gotta.” 

“I love you,” Carol said sincerely.

“That’s all I need,” Daryl said.

“It’s so fast,” Carol said. 

“We can take it as slow as you want,” Daryl said. “I got nowhere to be.” 

“I don’t even know—what do we do next?” Carol asked.

She was wide-eyed. Her blue eyes were damp and shining. Daryl stood up. He reached for the hand that she had empty, now that she’d snubbed out her cigarette. She took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. He hugged her against him. She was warm against the coolness of the air around him.

“I love you, and the rest don’t matter,” he said. “We’ll—play it by ear. Figure it out. But for now, what if we just do breakfast next?”


	47. Chapter 47

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Carol valued, a great deal, being given permission to say “no.” 

She liked knowing that she had the power to say “I don’t want…” or “I don’t like…” She liked knowing that Daryl had given her full control of the reins. She could choose for them to gallop forward at an unprecedented speed in their relationship, or she could pull back and request that they proceed slowly—even hold still, if that’s what she wanted.

Control over herself and the experiences of a relationship was something that Ed had never given Carol. Daryl soon learned that the man had essentially stripped her of every single bit of autonomy—and, therefore, certainly of all control—during their marriage. He liked to dictate what she wore, cooked, did with her time, and everything else. 

The only way that Carol had ever really visibly bucked Ed had been with her hair. She’d explained it to Daryl, one night, while they’d been working on a puzzle that, with five-thousand pieces, had started to seem a bit more complex than either of them had really desired for an evening of quiet, relaxing entertainment.

“I used to wear my hair long,” Carol said. 

“I bet it was pretty,” Daryl said.

The look she gave him told Daryl that she might think that was an inappropriate thing to say. He raised his eyebrows at her and lifted his hands in mock surrender. 

“What?” He asked. “Shit—I don’t mean nothin’ by it. Just—I bet your hair was pretty long.”

“So, you don’t like it short?” Carol asked.

“Of course I like it short,” Daryl said. “I mean—is this short? What it is now? Because—I’ve only known it like…you know…like it is now.”

She relaxed a little and laughed to herself. She reached her hand up and combed her fingers through her hair, teasing tangles out of the curls that went in every direction and looped around each other in places.

“This is short, but it’s not as short as it used to be,” Carol said. 

“How short did it used to be?” Daryl asked.

“Shaved,” Carol said. She laughed to herself at Daryl’s expression, and he did his best to try to wipe it away. “I did—I shaved it with clippers. There was barely enough to even tell that I had hair, and I kept it that way.”

“You got any pictures?” Daryl asked, walking a piece of the puzzle around the whole of what they had put together to see if it might magically slip into one of the open spaces.

“I never took pictures after I shaved it,” Carol said. “Not if I could help it.”

“Because of Ed?” Daryl asked. 

She hummed.

“Ed was pissed off about my hair,” Carol said. “He liked it long, and he liked it red. He said that a woman with short hair didn’t look like a woman. She looked like she wanted to be a man.”

“That’s stupid,” Daryl said. “It’s just hair. I mean—I’m sure your hair was pretty an’ all, but it’s just hair.” 

She smiled to herself at that comment, and Daryl’s heard did a dance in his chest. He had genuinely pleased her, and he hadn’t even meant to say something she’d necessarily approve of.

“He said I was—uglier than I’d ever been before. Masculine. He said it made me look old. Ugly. You name it. I wasn’t taking any pictures after that. I have a few from—before. When it was long.”

“I’d like to see ‘em,” Daryl said.

She tensed a little.

“Some other time,” she said, somewhat dismissively. 

“Fine,” Daryl said, returning his eyes to the frustrating ass toucan on the puzzle. “I mean—if you don’t want me to see your pictures, that’s your call. I’ve never taken a bunch of pictures. All my like—baby pictures or whatever? They were all destroyed in the house fire, if there ever were any of ‘em. But—I’ll scrounge up what I can around the house. Bring ‘em one day. Let you see what the hell Merle and me looked like back in the day. I think you’ll be surprised at how skinny we both used to be. And how damn curly-headed Merle was before he kept his hair cut so short. Me? I was a complete toe-head. My hair didn’t start to darken up, honestly, until I was damn near in my thirties.” 

When he looked at Carol, she was staring at him intently and smiling. He felt his cheeks run warm with the concentrated attention, and he laughed to himself to cover the sensation.

“What?” 

“I bet you were—adorable,” Carol said.

“Adorable?” Daryl said with a snort. “Really?” 

“What? I bet you were. I think you’re adorable now.” 

Daryl’s stomach was doing something akin to what he thought of as the “Carol Mamba.” It always had a tendency to overreact with Carol. He’d become accustomed to the feeling, though, and accepted that she simply had the ability to make him feel practically like his entire body was “jellied” at different times.

“Adorable ain’t a real masculine word, Carol.” 

“Oh, I think you’re plenty manly, too,” Carol offered. 

There was the slightest bit of throatiness in her words. There was a way she changed her voice—Daryl never could have explained it to anyone—but it called out to the most primal inner version of himself. Just the slight shift in her tone and he could feel his body responding. His dick practically woke from its slumber like it had the intention to raise its head, look around, and ask if it was needed.

Daryl was certain—positive, even—that things would eventually end in them making love—playing together, enjoying each other’s bodies. It almost always did. But he could also tell that wasn’t her interest at the moment. She might wish to tease him a little, all in the name of stoking the fire for later, but she wasn’t ready—not right now.

He did his best to communicate that information to his dick and every other system in his body. Now they were only teasing each other. Talking.

“You think I’m manly?” Daryl teased, raising his eyebrows at Carol.

Carol smiled at him. It was a warm smile. It grew, and she crinkled her nose. She looked so damned happy that she practically glowed when she wore that smile—and she wore it often. It was one of Daryl’s greatest life accomplishments that he’d somehow found the secret, entirely consciously unknown to him, to bring that smile about as often as he did.

She forced it back, trying to be serious for the sake of the game—the teasing that was passing between them—but she could only swallow back so much of it, and it didn’t matter in the slightest. This was just a thing that they did. They both enjoyed it—the playful back and forth. 

“I do,” she practically cooed. “Adorable and manly and…virile.” 

“Virile,” Daryl mused. 

“Virile,” she repeated.

Daryl raised his eyebrows. 

“And I think you’re—adorable…”

“That one’s mine,” Carol teased. “You’re cheating.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“I can’t help it. It’s true. Adorable, and irresistible, and…muliebral.”

Carol furrowed her brows.

“Muliebral?” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Muliebral,” he repeated. “It’s—the opposite of virile. Like if a man is virile, then a woman’s muliebral.”

“Feminine.”

“Same family,” Daryl said. “Masculine is to feminine as virile is to muliebral.” 

Carol nodded, not hiding her impressed expression or the smattering of amusement on her features.

“New words like…muliebral…and analogies,” she mused.

“Almost like I’m an educated caveman,” Daryl teased.

“I would never call you a caveman,” Carol said quickly. “And—I’m sorry if you would ever think I would.” 

It was sincere. The sincerity of her apology made Daryl’s stomach tighten in a different way than her normal effect on his internal organs.

“I’m just joshin’ you,” Daryl said. “I’m not offended.”

“But I am impressed. I’ve never heard that word before.” 

“Merle loves crossword puzzles,” Daryl said. “Loves words. Says words are the key to everything in the world.”

“That just doesn’t sound like Merle,” Carol said. 

“He’s less of a caveman than he seems,” Daryl offered with a shrug.

“I didn’t mean that either,” Carol said. 

“It’s OK,” Daryl said. “Believe me. Still, he loves words. Fact remains. He’s got a big ass dictionary and he’s always searchin’ shit out. Now he can find shit on his phone and, at first, he was kind of offended by it. Like he was doin’ some kind of great huntin’ when it was just him and the big ass book for hours at the kitchen table. He’s made peace with the phone, though, and he does puzzles like four times as fast as he ever did ‘em before. He teaches me words sometimes, and I pick them up either helping him look or just—you know—comin’ across somethin’ new in a book.” 

“You amaze me a little more each day,” Carol said. A soft, warm smile had settled over her features again, and Daryl’s stomach returned to the happy Mamba that it usually did in her presence. He smiled to himself.

“And every damn time I turn around, I find out there’s somethin’ else we got in common,” he said. He let her sit, for a moment, smiling to herself with that happy little smile. He watched her trying to fit together pieces of the puzzle with her delicate little fingers. He took in every part of her, in that moment, and saved it away in his mind with the million other little details of her that he desperately stored up to keep with him forever. He was almost afraid to forget anything about her—everything, honestly, simply felt so precious to him that he couldn’t imagine being without it now that he had it.

Daryl cleared his throat after a moment.

“So—do I get to see those pictures of you?” 

Carol looked at him, this time without the earlier burning expression, and hummed.

“You can,” she said. “Just—not right this minute. They’re all put away in the bottom of the closet and I just don’t feel like going to get them.” 

He felt like she was being honest. She wasn’t trying to put him off. She sincerely didn’t want to get up, from this moment in the present, to go digging through the closet in search of the past. Daryl accepted that.

“Fine,” Daryl said. “Just—want you to know that, it don’t matter what the hell Ed said, OK? You’re beautiful and muliebral no damn matter what your hair looks like. Long or short, red or silver.”

Carol looked at him again, and he winked at her. She smiled and her cheeks blushed pink.

“My hair was red when I shaved it,” she said. “I didn’t let it grow again—not even this much—until after I divorced Ed. It came back in entirely gray. My parents both went very prematurely gray, though, so…I wasn’t too surprised. I considered coloring it, but…”

“I like it,” Daryl offered quickly, picking up that she needed him to say something.

“You might like it better red when you see the pictures,” Carol challenged.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

“And you might like it better when I was super thin and toe-headed,” Daryl said. “But that was then. This is now.” 

“I could dye my hair,” Carol said. 

“So could I, I guess,” Daryl challenged. “But—I don’t want to. You want to dye your hair?”

“Not really.”

“So—there it is. Besides, I mean, I’d like to see your pictures just to…see your pictures. But I love you just the way you are right now. You know that. I fell in love with you. You like…like you are. It’s not like I’ma fall in love with a picture. Hell—if you don’t want me to see ‘em, that’s fine, too. I was fine not seein’ ‘em before I even knew they existed.” 

“You had to know I looked different in my teens and twenties—even in my thirties.” 

Daryl shrugged.

“Sure, I knew it. I’m not stupid. I bet you looked a hell of a lot different the day you were born. My point was that it don’t matter. Doesn’t change how I feel about you right now.” 

When he looked at her again, she was doing that thing—that thing that practically unnerved him. That thing where she looked at him so intently that he was almost certain she could see through him. There was a calm happiness on her face.

“I love you,” she said. 

The way she said it was always so simple. She didn’t go in for elaborate speeches or long, drawn out declarations of love. She said it simply. Concisely. Just three words. I love you.

And yet, she put so much feeling behind the way that she said it, that those three words always crashed over Daryl like a tidal wave of warm water when she said them. There was so much force behind them—so much sincere meaning—that it felt like it could take him off his feet.

“I love you, too,” he echoed back, feeling slightly short of breath from her words. She was pleased, and she turned back to the puzzle. After a moment, she cheered and wiggled in her chair with a victory dance over having found all the pieces to the flower that she could fit into the image they were creating together.

Daryl struggled with the toucan and let some comfortable silence pass between them before he returned to what they’d been discussing earlier.

“I still gotta ask,” he said, as a way of drawing her back. She looked at him in question. “Ed controlled everything you did. Everything about you.” She nodded. “And you did what he wanted.”

“I had to,” Carol said. “It was survival.” 

“I ain’t scoldin’,” Daryl said quickly. She nodded her understanding. He was only working through his thoughts, not scolding her for her past. “I guess what I’m wondering is—Ed liked your hair long, and you tried to do what Ed wanted you to do because it was, like you say, survival. I guess—I’m wonderin’ why you shaved it and kept it that way for the rest of your marriage. That had to make him more of an asshole.” 

“I don’t know if anything could make Ed more of an asshole,” Carol said. 

“I agree he was just a fuckin’ asshole, full stop. I guess, what I’m tryin’ to say is he had to…react.”

“Oh, he did,” Carol said. She smiled at Daryl. “You want to know why.” 

“If you don’t want to tell me,” Daryl responded.

“No,” Carol said. “I do want to tell you. Remember? I want—to know everything about you. And I want you to—know everything about me.” 

They wanted to know each other’s true selves. That was what they had decided almost immediately after they’d declared that they loved each other. If they were going to love each other, then they wanted to love the whole of each other—warts and all. That would mean, of course, peeling back a lot of layers and even pulling back some protection that they’d both put in place, and come to rely on, over the years.

It would require a great deal of trust and sensitivity from the both of them. And, more than likely, it would require a great deal of time. 

They were revealing themselves to each other as they felt comfortable offering up bits and pieces. The idea wasn’t to shame each other, force each other, or rush each other. 

And it was one of the greatest feelings that Daryl had ever felt. He was going to know this incredible woman, entirely, in time. She was going to give that to him. And, in return, he was going to be completely known to her. It was a little scary, honestly, and he knew she felt the same, but it was invigorating as well.

“If you’re not ready,” Daryl offered.

Carol sat back in her chair. She sucked in a breath.

“Ed used to—grab my hair. All the time. He’d do this…” she demonstrated a winding motion with her hand and fingers, her face taking on an angry expression that he was sure was simply a memory of what Ed had looked like to her when he raged against her. “He’d use it to snatch me around. Hold me. Control me. He used to rip it out sometimes, he’d hold it so hard.” 

“Jesus…I’m…sorry,” Daryl stammered. The words meant nothing, and they certainly did nothing for the feeling of nausea that rose up within him. Carol knew, though, like he did, that there simply weren’t words that could do anything they wanted them to do. He told her things, too, that she couldn’t respond to in any meaningful way—at least not to take it away. There was no undoing the past.

The only meaningful response, from either of them about any piece of themselves that they shared, would always come “later.” It would always come in the time when they soothed each other and appreciated each other. It would always come when they consciously made an effort not to repeat things that had hurt each of them. 

Carol smiled to herself and nodded.

“It’s OK,” she said. “Really. Ummm—so one day, he hurt me. He really, really hurt me. Worse than—he ever hurt me before. Honestly? Worse than he ever hurt me the whole time we were married. And it was like something inside of me just…broke. So, when he went to work, I decided that he would still hurt me, because I knew that he would, but he wouldn’t ever use my hair to grab me. He wouldn’t ever use it to keep me from getting away. So, I took the clippers he had for keeping his hair trimmed, and I cut it all off. Shaved it all off. Every bit of it. He was pissed off. But he’d already hurt me—and he couldn’t ever hurt me that badly again.” 

Daryl’s breath felt shallow and labored. His throat felt tight. His stomach was knotted, and had abandoned the happy Mamba dance that it did. The air in the room felt heavy.

“I wish I could—go back,” Daryl said, “and undo all the hurt he ever did to you.” 

Carol gave him a tight-lipped smile that told him that she was dealing with her own pain, at the moment—the fresh sting of reliving old trauma. 

“I think—you are,” Carol said, her words coming out breathy. “At least…as much as you can.”

Daryl nodded his understanding.

“Then I’ll keep going,” he offered. “’Til it’s all done.” 

She smiled at him a little more sincerely.

“I believe you,” she breathed out.

She offered him a hand to hold, for just a moment, across the puzzle. It was a quiet request for a physical connection. It was a silent searching out of positive touch to counteract the painful touch she was remembering. Daryl caught her hand, squeezed it affectionately, and received her return squeeze. He leaned, raised her hand to his lips, and kissed her fingers. She squeezed his hand again before she drew hers back.

“You are staying the night?” Carol suddenly asked, brow furrowed, like she’d just been struck with the possibility that Daryl might be leaving—and like she’d just been struck with the realization that, maybe, she wanted the comfort of having him there.

Daryl smiled to himself.

Carol valued, a great deal, being given the permission to say “no.” She valued, immensely, the feeling of holding the reins and having the ability, at any moment, to pull back on them and say that things were going too quickly. She savored the control that Daryl had happily and freely given her over how quickly they galloped along, trying out the new experience—for both of them—of simply being peacefully and happily in love with one another.

Carol liked feeling that control was within in her grasp, but Daryl had found that she hadn’t really exercised it in the weeks since they’d first exchanged their declarations of love. She hadn’t said anything when he’d brought the small suitcase. There had been no grand discussion the day that she’d shown him his “drawer” and the corner she’d cleaned out of the closet. There’d been nothing more than a given “thanks” the day that she’d replicated his toiletries, lining up “Carol’s house” versions of his favorite things along the bathroom counter and putting his body wash in the shower.

Carol liked knowing that she had the right to say “no,” any time she pleased and without explanation, but Daryl had noticed that she hardly ever practiced that right. Of course, maybe he just didn’t present her with too many things to which she sharply objected.

He was learning, and he valued the knowledge, that his presence was absolutely not something to which she objected—seemingly ever. And he was more grateful for that than he could ever truly express.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m stayin’ the night.”


	48. Chapter 48

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I posted the previous chapter earlier today, so please go and read that one first if you haven’t read it. Don’t forget to show me a little love if you have the chance! 

I hope you enjoy this chapter as well! Let me know what you think! 

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As much as they found showering together an amusing form of interacting with each other sexually, they’d both agreed that neither of them really found it very effective for actually feeling like they got as clean as they wanted. Therefore, they took different kinds of showers. If they desired to hold each other under streaming water and to fool around a little with the different types of shower sex they’d heard about in some form or fashion, they took a shower for that. If they desired to actually get clean and, sometimes, to relax in the hot water of the shower, they took separate showers.

Carol had wanted to try some new recipe she’d come across, and she liked a little quiet concentration time when trying something new, so Daryl had taken his shower while she’d cooked. After dinner, he’d offered to wash and dry the dishes so that she could disappear to the bathroom and take her shower. She was gone for a while, and Daryl accepted that it must have simply gotten good to her. Sometimes she enjoyed the hot water so much she could linger there for a while, just letting it drum down over her muscles until it cooled down. 

He’d retired out to the porch when the kitchen was clean, and he’d smoked a cigarette while nursing a beer.

“Daryl? I’ve got something to show you, when you’re done.” 

Daryl heard her behind him, and he smiled to himself. He turned to see her standing in the doorway to the porch, silhouetted by the light of the house behind her. She was wearing a night gown—a new one she’d bought not a week before and he’d made a big deal over it because it seemed to make her happy. It was short, and soft, and silky, and lavender. She was beautiful in it, and it was clear that she felt beautiful in it, so Daryl encouraged her to wear it whenever she pleased—and to consider buying one for each day of the week, if she so desired.

“Just on my way,” Daryl said. 

She smiled, nodded her head, and turned on her bare feet to disappear back inside. 

Daryl finished his cigarette, locked the back door, drank half of the beer while he made his tour of the house, and made sure that all the candles were blown out and the front door was locked up tight. He checked the stove, running his fingers over the eyes, even though he could see they were off, to further convince his brain that they were safe.

He had something of a fear of house fires that he’d had since he was a kid. It wasn’t debilitating, but he liked to be extra sure he’d taken all possible precautions. Carol never so much as teased him for it and, since he’d been staying more often than before, she’d simply given him the job of “securing the house” before bed.

In the bedroom, Carol was sitting on the bed, one leg tucked up under her. She smiled at Daryl, and he practically skipped to the bed to join her. In front of her, on the bed, was a black photo album.

“You don’t gotta show me this,” he said. “You don’t.” 

“I want to,” Carol urged. She opened it and Daryl watched as she transformed, in front of him, from a happy little baby, to a kid with missing front teeth, to a somewhat awkward looking teenager, to a beautiful young woman. While he flipped the pages, Carol had worked her way around on the bed, like a cat, getting next to him. She’d slipped under his arm, and sat with her body pressed against his. He enjoyed her proximity, and he liked touching her. He loved the way that she nuzzled him and sought him out, silently. He never said anything about it, or drew attention to it, because he almost feared she would stop if she knew that he realized—and relished—what she was doing.

He saw her stare at him when he flipped the page to the vision of her in white. Every picture, from there onward, that had been somewhat hacked apart with scissors told him that she’d cut Ed out of all of them as a way of exorcising some of her demons.

“You were a beautiful bride,” Daryl offered.

“I know you probably think I shouldn’t have kept it,” Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Then you don’t know me as good as I thought you did,” Daryl offered. “Somethin’ where you look that damn beautiful? You really gotta keep it.” 

Her cheeks blushed almost scarlet.

“I was so stupid,” she said. “So childish. Naïve. I don’t know the right word.” She laughed to herself. “Maybe Merle could help me. But I just loved the idea of your wedding day, you know? The fairy tale idea of your special day. I just wanted to feel beautiful. Special.” 

“Did you?” Daryl asked.

“I did,” Carol said. “I felt so pretty in that dress. And someone did my hair and my makeup. I felt—special.” 

“Well—you were beautiful,” Daryl said. “And I’m glad you felt special. You clean up the edges a little bit, and you could frame this. Ought to.” 

“No,” Carol said. “But—I don’t want to throw it out.” 

“You shouldn’t.” 

Daryl turned the page. Carol had pulled away from him, now, though she kept close to him, to be able to watch him as he looked at the pictures. It made him a little uncomfortable—the way that he imagined anyone felt when they simply felt so overwhelmingly “seen” by someone—but he liked her proximity and he understood that there was an immense amount of—was it trust? There was something taking place in the moment. He could feel it in the air around them. He could sense its importance.

The moment was silently profound, and he didn’t miss that. 

“You were beautiful,” he mused, looking over the pictures—some candid, and others not. “I mean—you’re beautiful now, that ain’t what I meant.” 

Carol smiled at him sincerely and pecked her lips lovingly against his jaw before she quickly nuzzled her face there. 

“I know what you meant,” she said. They were the only words of reassurance that he needed to know that he hadn’t misspoken. 

When Daryl turned to the last page of the album—everything in this album simply stopping after that and the pages remaining blank—he froze.

His stomach knotted and ached, and he couldn’t blame it on the delicious dinner that Carol had prepared for them. It was the pain of realization that cramped his stomach and tightened his chest. It was the overwhelm of helplessness in the face of a great cruelty that made his fingers tremble against the edge of the photo album page. It was the wish that he could be mistaken about something he knew he hadn’t mistaken that made him almost dread meeting the blue eyes that were watching him intently.

There were only two final pictures on the last page.

The first one could have been something directly out of some kind of spooky Halloween illustration or something. It was a sort of gaping blackness in a fog of white and black specks that was reminiscent of when the cable used to go out on the television. Daryl had seen them on movies—almost every movie he loved had shown at least a quick glimpse of one of the familiar photos—but he’d never seen one in person. He’d never seen one close up, like the one behind the protective plastic of the page cover. 

He couldn’t tell a thing about it. He wouldn’t know what it was if he didn’t simply know, but he knew.

Beneath it was a picture of Carol taking a picture of herself in a tall mirror that had apparently hung on a closet door in some house he’d never seen. It was grainy, and the flash had reflected in the picture, but it was clear enough to tell she was happy. She’d been happy. At least for that moment.

Daryl pushed the album out of the way—across the bed. He turned back to Carol. She looked at him expectantly. There was a certain type of pleading in her eyes. She’d chosen to share this with him. It was no surprise to her. She knew it was there, and she knew that he would see it. She had peeled back this layer, bared herself to him, and it was his turn to react.

He accepted his role. He reached for her, gently touching her face. He wiped away the one tear that had escaped her as she’d anticipated his reaction or, perhaps, simply relived her own experience.

“I love you more every fuckin’ minute I know you,” he admitted, the words practically tumbling out uncontrollably. Carol laughed to herself, and she looked like she appreciated that he’d given her that. She reached her hand up and curled her fingers around his wrist, her thumb gently brushing the soft skin of the underside of his wrist and arm. “I’m sorry—it didn’t come out like I meant it.”

“It’s perfect,” she said. She licked her lips. Her eyes were damp. “I love you, too. More—with every minute. It’s overwhelming.” 

“Scary?” Daryl asked.

“Less scary than it used to be,” she ventured. “Less scary every minute, maybe.” 

Daryl smiled to himself. He changed his position and got more comfortable. She followed suit. For a moment, the physical touch between them was broken, but not the intimacy that surrounded them. 

“Was it—just one of them things?” Daryl asked. 

Carol’s eyes flicked back toward the abandoned album, quickly, and then she looked back at Daryl.

“He never hurt me like that before,” Carol said. “And—I never let him hurt me like that again.”

Daryl’s stomach twisted, painfully, with the realization of what he felt he already knew on some instinctual level. He felt like he’d known it the second he’d seen the easily identifiable, yet entirely unreadable photograph. 

“You don’t gotta say more’n that,” Daryl offered. “I don’t need details.” 

The corners of her mouth barely turned up.

“Thank you,” she said.

“But—just know that—anything you want to say? I’ll hear it.” 

She nodded her head. She licked her lips again, clearly carefully considering what she did and did not want to say. Daryl reached a hand out and squeezed her shoulder, kneading the muscles with his fingers. He gave her the time she wanted. He’d always give her the time she needed.

“I promised myself that I wouldn’t let him ever do it again,” Carol said. “He would’ve been pissed off. I went on birth control. Behind his back. Secretly. I took it until the divorce.” 

Daryl nodded his head.

“I can understand that.” 

“I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of…sneaky person,” Carol said. “That I can’t be trusted. I just—couldn’t. Daryl—I couldn’t.” 

He shook his head. 

“I don’t think you’re sneaky,” he assured her. “Hell—I’m surprised you didn’t murder him while he slept. So, I ain’t gonna think shit about you doin’ what the hell you had to do to survive.” 

She nodded her acceptance, and she gave him a hint of a smile of appreciation.

“You want to talk about—it? Or…I don’t know, Carol. I’m outta my league. Ain’t gonna bullshit you. But if you wanna talk about it? I swear—I’ll hear any damn thing you wanna say. Even if you just wanna—you know—cry about it a while or somethin’.”

Carol crawled toward him. She closed the distance between them and brought her lips directly against his. He closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss. It was hungrier than he expected. Slow, deep, like she was savoring the taste of each of the kisses she shared with him. His hands searched her sides. His rough fingers picked on the silky texture of her lavender nightgown. She tugged at his hair and moaned appreciation for the kiss and the touch.

She pulled away and kept her forehead pressed against his. He could feel the actual heat rising off her body. It was unmistakable, for a moment. Something he’d said or done, without any intention at all, had kick started her motor in a very real way.

“I’ve cried my tears already,” she breathed out. “At least—for now.” 

“Any time,” Daryl offered. “I knew you wanted a family. Wondered why you never had one.” He let his fingers keep tripping and trailing over her body. She maintained her position, and he let her hold it. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered—whatever happened, and however it happened, he liked just spending the night with her.

“You said it was part of your dream,” Carol said. Daryl hummed in the affirmative. “You never had a family, either.” 

“Never had anyone I loved like that,” Daryl said. He laughed to himself. “Never had—anyone who loved me like that.” 

“Me either,” Carol said.

She pulled away from him, but held his eyes. Her pupils were clearly dilated and his whole body responded to the fact that he could practically smell her arousal in the same way that he could feel the heat radiating off of her body.

His heart leapt before laying into pounding rapidly—like it might knock right through his ribs.

He prayed he was reading her right or, if he wasn’t, that she would forgive him. He touched her face and she turned her face to kiss his hand. 

“There ain’t nothin’ or nobody stoppin’ us,” Daryl offered. 

Her eyes went big, but she didn’t pull away from him. She was breathing heavily, and he didn’t know if it was because she was turned on, or if it was because she was nervous. 

“My age,” Carol said.

“What about it?” 

“It might not work,” Carol said. “There’s no telling how long it could take or—if it would ever even happen.” 

“But it might?” 

“It might,” Carol said. “But—it might not.” 

Daryl nodded his understanding.

“But, if it did, you would want that?” Daryl asked.

Carol nodded.

“With me?” Daryl pressed.

She smiled softly.

“Especially with you,” she said. “Only with you.” 

Daryl nodded again. He didn’t say anything. Carol watched him as he stood up and, slowly and deliberately, rid himself of the few clothes he’d put on to eat dinner and finish up the evening after his shower. He moved the clothes and the photo album to the chair in the corner. He returned and sat back on the edge of the bed. She was watching him, still, with both legs tucked up under her.

“Change your mind yet?” He asked, laughing low in his throat. Even he wasn’t sure if he was serious or teasing.

She smiled, her eyes holding his and never so much as flicking away. She shook her head gently.

“Never,” she said. 

Daryl nodded again.

Daryl reached and caught her arm. He tugged her.

“Come on,” he said. He didn’t have to urge her. She was almost immediately off the bed and standing in front of him. He brushed his hands down her body. He slipped them under nightgown and caught the band of her panties. He tugged them down until the point when they would drop to the floor on their own. She stepped out of them and pulled her nightgown over her head. She tossed it to the floor, taking much less care than Daryl had earlier.

She was beautiful. He had thought she was beautiful the first time he’d seen her, but she seemed to grow more beautiful every single time he was near her. 

Unashamed, he leaned, ducking his head, and inhaled the scent of her—the smell of her arousal. He nuzzled the curls that she kept short, but didn’t shave at his urging. He liked them. He moved enough to be able to find what he was looking for, and to suckle it. His fingers held her hips and her fingers curled around his wrists as she gasped. He only teased her a few moments with his tongue, knowing that it was only for his benefit, really, since she was already quite prepared for him.

He straightened up and looked at her. She smiled at him and ducked her head. She kissed him; she must have tasted herself on his tongue. 

“Well—come on,” he said, the words practically coming out as a growl since he was finding it difficult to speak them. 

She nodded, a nervous smile on her lips, and came toward him. He helped her as she straddled him where he sat. He helped her adjust herself and stay balanced while she raised herself up—her hands on his shoulders—while he lined them up. He closed his eyes and groaned at the feeling of her, bare to him, slipping around him and swallowing him up.

“You feel so damn good,” he breathed out, resting his forehead against her for a second as he allowed her to adjust to him and get comfortable. 

She responded by moving herself to slide the length of him. Using her hands on his shoulders and the leverage she got from her position, she took over control of the moment. Daryl let her have it. He held her hips, supported her, and held her eyes with his own.

When he couldn’t stand it, he moved his own hips, practically lifting both of them off the bed. The way he felt, in that moment, he could have lifted her up, held her in his arms, and thrust into her without even tiring out his muscles. The way she held his eyes only seemed to feed the fire inside of him.

It felt like there was so much to say, and yet Daryl couldn’t find a single word. Carol, too, seemed mute. Each of them was silenced except for the breathing and heavy panting that neither could have avoided. When Carol opened her mouth to him in what looked like a silent scream of pain—brow furrowed—and tipped her head back, she locked tight around him. Her body pulsed, almost violently, taking any control that Daryl had pretended to have of the situation.

She curled around him. She rested with her head on his shoulder. He held her, tight against him, sitting in his lap, after he’d slipped from her body and the cool air of the bedroom had started to dry the sweat that coated both of them.

There was so much to say, but for a few moments, they simply held each other and guarded silence.

Daryl laughed to himself, finally, as his senses returned. He danced his fingertips against Carol’s skin, absentmindedly trailing them over the bones in her spine.

“You ain’t changed your mind yet, have you?” He asked.

She sat up, but she didn’t leave his lap. He didn’t mind. He liked having her this close.

She looked concerned.

“Did you?” 

He laughed at her concern. 

“No,” he assured her. “Never.” 

“Me either,” she said with a smile.

“Good—because…we just did that. All the way.” 

She laughed to herself. 

“I know,” she said. “I can—feel it. Gravity.” 

“Sorry,” Daryl said.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Oddly enough, maybe…I like it. Right now, at least.” She furrowed her brow and her expression turned darker for a second. “It might not work right away. It might not work ever, Daryl.” 

Daryl nodded his understanding.

“And if it didn’t, would you still be happy with—me? With us? Like it is right now?” 

Carol smiled to herself. She kissed him and held his face with her fingers.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I would.”

“And if it did happen, then would you be happy with that?” He asked.

Her smile grew.

“I would,” she said, squirming slightly against him in what he imagined was something like the happy little dance that she seemed to do whenever something was too overwhelmingly delightful for her. 

“Me too,” Daryl said. “No matter—how it goes? I’m happy now and…I’d be happy then. So—hell—we might as well have fun tryin’ in the meantime, right?” 

Carol relaxed against him and he circled her entirely with his arms to make sure she didn’t accidentally slip to the floor.

“I love you,” she said, the same warm feeling washing over Daryl, when he heard the words, as always did.

He sighed, the sound of them relaxing him.

“Not near as much as I love you,” he said. “It just ain’t fuckin’ possible.”


	49. Chapter 49

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daydreamy.

Distracted.

Carol was almost ashamed of the way she was behaving, and yet she felt entirely helpless to it. It was ridiculous for a woman her age to find herself with her head stuck in the clouds and a somewhat helpless feeling of being unable to draw herself back to her reality.

As she went through her day, she drifted off in the same way she might if her head were an actual balloon and were able to simply bob a few feet above her shoulders on a string. 

She’d texted him and called—they’d talked—but it had been three days since Daryl went home after staying with her for a streak that might have been improper if people were still judging each other harshly for that sort of thing. She understood, of course, his need to go home. 

He had a home. He had a place where he lived with all of his things there. It was only natural that he wanted and needed to return to that location from time to time. He’d signaled the need for more clothes. If he was going back and forth to work, he needed more clothes—even though Carol was more than content to keep washing the same few items over and over again, he might eventually want something different.

He had some things he needed to take care of. Carol hadn’t questioned him, because he’d presented those “things” in such a manner that she felt that was simply the end of the conversation. He needed to do some things of which she wasn’t part. He hadn’t offered to elaborate, and she hadn’t questioned him. 

The longer he was gone, though, the more she felt like her mind easily drifted.

Carol had been a daydreamer when she was young. Even without the help of a book, she’d been able to simply sit and let her mind get lost for hours in elaborate worlds of her own creation. She’d lived and relived her entire life thousands of times before she was even eighteen—though her dreams had been very different than the way things had actually turned out. She’d given up daydreaming, though, along the way. Ed had taken that flightiness, as her mother had called it out, out of her. It had been dangerous to let her mind wander when she was married to Ed. Beyond that, she’d lost a great deal of the desire to dream about what might be while she was simply trying to survive what was. 

She’d really never regained that dreamy and hopeful part of herself after her divorce. Not to the same extent. A book could transport her to another place or time, and that was one reason that she loved them so much, but her own mind didn’t spend the kind of time or effort that it once had showing her scenes of her own possible experiences.

She was finding herself, suddenly, flooded with daydreams, though. And, in fact, she seemed unable to stop imagining a million different scenarios while she cleared tables, washed dishes, refilled and arranged things, and went about her never-ending list of tasks to accomplish.

Several times, hopefully discreetly, she’d found herself letting her hand drift down to lightly brush her fingertips against her stomach. 

Her stomach was relatively flat. She’d always carried a little extra “fluff” around her middle, no matter how much she tried to get rid of the softness there. She’d always wanted the rock-hard stomach and abs that television told her was desirable, but she was simply soft and carried a little extra weight there—no matter how many sit-ups she did or how much she denied herself delicious things to eat.

Now she wasn’t touching her fingertips there, absentmindedly and as part of a physical manifestation of her inner thoughts, because she was scolding herself for her permanent extra pudge. She was touching her stomach because she kept imagining that she might be pregnant. She kept imagining that she might simply find that she could feel a life growing there—a life that was wanted, and loved, and dreamed about.

She wasn’t pregnant. 

She probably would never be pregnant—not again. 

But she could be, and her daydreams seemed determined to run with that. She could be. At least, she and Daryl had done everything, as far as she knew, that made such a thing possible.

She tried to imagine how she would feel. 

It was almost impossible to imagine it. Just to think about it sent her heart into wildly beating and made her hands shake slightly. It made her breath catch. She had been so happy, for just a while, in a past that seemed so distant that those moments of happiness might not have been any more real than her current daydreams. But then she’d been so devastated—but she didn’t want to think about that. Not that part. She didn’t want to recall it. That wasn’t where her mind wanted to be.

She imagined shaky, overwhelming happiness, and she felt it. 

She asked herself how she would tell Daryl if such a thing were to really happen.

Daryl loved his favorite kind of movies dearly. The more she got to know him, the more she realized that he’d done more than watch those movies religiously—he’d lived them. In his mind, thousands of times, he’d lived them. Daryl was given to daydreaming and, perhaps, a little of the fancy that Carol remembered her mother chiding her for in the past.

Daryl liked to let his mind go wandering, and it often wandered around in scenes and moments that he’d collected from his movies.

He liked the decorative pillows around Carol’s house because they reminded him of the houses that seemed overflowing with pillows—with comfort items—in his movies. He liked the candles that she kept burning, now, on nearly ever surface because they reminded him of his movies. He liked the prospect of the weather finally tipping cold enough to merit lighting a fire in her fireplace because fireplaces were things that meant snuggling and happiness in his movies.

Daryl would appreciate it if Carol were to tell him by borrowing something nice from a movie—or at least coming up with something that made him feel like he was in one of his movies. He would appreciate some gesture—a nice way of telling him the news.

Every time she imagined a different way of telling him, and she imagined his reaction to finding out the news, it felt like it turned everything inside her inside out for a second.

Her imagination couldn’t imagine him reacting in any way other than being absolutely overwhelmed with happiness. The little voice in her mind—the one that had plagued her for years—whispered to her that he would change his mind. It whispered to her that he would find the expectation and the responsibility overwhelming. It told her that he would be angry because she would find a way, somehow, to do it wrong and to displease him. It told her that it would be a nightmare all over again.

But that had been Ed. That had been her experience with Ed. 

That wasn’t Daryl. The voice, it seemed, didn’t know Daryl at all, and her imagination didn’t seem to appreciate the intrusion of the voice into the work it was doing churning out scenarios of how everything felt just like it came straight out of one of Daryl’s movies.

Daryl wanted it. He wanted the whole thing—though the voice reminded Carol that Ed had wanted it too. But he hadn’t wanted it in the same way. He’d never been as sincere and honest as Daryl had been about everything.

The struggle in her mind had made Carol stumble over some breakfast preparations—causing toast that was too done, eggs that weren’t cooked just quite to order, and coffee that was strong enough that they had to advertise it slightly differently than the pot they re-brewed. That was not to mention the fact that Carol had delivered the wrong order to a table more than once and had to apologize, hot-faced, for the mix-up that nobody really minded since it was easily corrected.

She’d washed her face with cool water in the bathroom and tried to shake her invading thoughts out, but it didn’t take long until they started to slip again.

As long as the daydreams were ruling—nice thoughts where she imagined good scenarios, her slips were less often. She was able to work through those—her fingers seemed to know what they were doing while her mind wandered in the kind of winter wonderland, with Daryl, that Georgia hadn’t seen in decades. 

When the voice snuck in, though, and tried to make itself heard—battling against her daydreams—was when she started to simply feel like she was failing at everything she did and her hands were somehow put on backwards.

Ed had always made her feel that way and, it seemed, that even thoughts of him and reminders of how he made her feel could stir those inadequacies back up.

By the time they were starting preparations for the lunch time customers, the voice had a new concern that it tried to introduce to her. Daryl had left her house three days ago. He’d left her, before work, with sleepy kisses, and warm smiles, and even that sweet little thing he did where he nuzzled her neck while he held her in a hug. He’d left after waking her super early to ask if she wanted, before work, to sacrifice a few minutes of sleep in trade for slow, quiet, lazy sex. She couldn’t think of any better way to wake up; that’s what she’d told him. 

He’d told her that he had some things he needed to do. He had things he needed to take care of around his work schedule. She’d accepted that. She had no actual right to have expectations of Daryl and, even if she did, she didn’t want to be the kind of person who expected to control every waking minute of his life.

He texted her whenever he got the chance. She turned her notifications off because her phone would randomly go off throughout the day. She responded, in kind, whenever a break presented itself. They called each other at night, and Carol fell asleep with the phone in her hand, for the first time, since she’d been a teenager. 

Daryl simply had responsibilities and things that he had to accomplish. He needed some time and space to take care of the things that he needed to take care of before he came back to spend a few days and nights in her presence. The rational part of Carol’s mind, which spent its time wallowing in warm daydreams of how they might spend their time together, understood and accepted that without question.

The voice, however, kept trying its best to barge into Carol’s daydreams and suggest that Daryl had simply changed his mind and, being as kind as he was, he’d decided to take this as an opportunity to quietly slip away.

“Sweetheart—are you feeling OK?” 

Carol was snatched out of her thoughts by Jacqui’s voice and the touch of her hand on her shoulder. Carol gasped and sucked in a breath. The transition back to reality was hard and fast, and she hadn’t been ready for it. She felt something like tears, almost, prickling at the inside of her eyelids. Her throat ached. She’d ventured too far into the world the voice wanted her to create to replace her daydreams. She’d listened too long.

“What?” She croaked out, aware of the froggish quality of her voice. 

Jacqui was sincerely concerned, that much was evident on her expression. She didn’t pull her hand away from Carol’s shoulder. She did raise the other, though, and touched it to Carol’s forehead and then to her cheeks.

“You might be a little warm,” Jacqui said. “Carol—sweetheart—are you OK? You need some water or—to go home and lie down?” 

“I’m fine,” Carol said quickly. “Why?” 

“You haven’t been yourself today,” Jacqui said. 

“I’ve had a lot on my mind,” Carol said, stirring the pitcher of tea that she’d been preparing.

“I know that much, Carol Ann. You want to talk about it?” Carol shook her head in response to Jacqui’s question. Jacqui held her ground. “Is it about your boyfriend? Daryl? Did he do something?” 

“Daryl’s never done anything,” Carol said. “At least—nothing I can fault him for.” 

Jacqui laughed to herself. 

“That doesn’t sound possible, honey,” Jacqui said with a laugh. “T can do ten things wrong before he gets to breakfast, and that’s usually without trying.” 

“Not Daryl,” Carol said. 

“Then what’s wrong?” Jacqui asked. “And don’t you tell me nothing’s wrong. I’ve been working in close quarters with you long enough that I can tell when you took cough medicine or your period started.” 

At the mention of that, Carol’s stomach nearly turned inside out again.

“It’s nothing,” she dismissed, stirring the sweet tea.

“Well—you let me know when you want to talk about that nothing,” Jacqui said. “In the meantime, honey, you pour that tea out. I don’t think anybody here wants a glass of tea mixed up with two cups of salt.” 

Carol’s stomach sunk. 

“I didn’t,” she said, groaning, and fully accepting that she had. 

“You wanna tell me now?” Jacqui asked with a laugh, as Carol poured out the pitcher of tea. 

“It’s nothing, really,” Carol said. “Just—Ed.” 

“Ed—your ex?” 

“It’s not really Ed,” Carol said. “It’s just—things are really good with Daryl and me. And it feels like Ed keeps wanting to mess that up.” 

“He’s in Living Springs?” 

“The Ed in my head,” Carol said with a laugh. “I sound insane.”

Jacqui laughed to herself and it helped lighten Carol’s mood again. Slowly, she felt the heaviness that crept over her body when she thought about Ed dissipate a little. She felt her muscles relax again and start to return to the state they’d been in before.

“You don’t sound crazy,” Jacqui said. “My mother used to be so damned critical of everything I did. I couldn’t even chop an onion to suit her. I hear her, sometimes. Criticizing everything I do.”

“I’ve never seen you poorly chop an onion, for the record.”

“My point is we’ve all got those voices, Carol. But—when you’re not putting salt in the tea, you’ve been doing OK for a while, right? I mean—since you met this Daryl. I’ve seen you around here. Smiling to yourself. Humming.”

Carol smiled in spite of herself and the feelings untangled a bit more. Jacqui raised her eyebrows as if she’d just made a point.

“I haven’t seen him in a few days,” Carol said. “That shouldn’t be a big deal, should it? He’s been working and busy—and had a few things to do. I’ve been here. We just—haven’t seen each other in a few days. That shouldn’t be cause for concern.” 

“And it isn’t,” Jacqui offered. “But if it’s got you flustered...”

“Is flustered what I am?” Carol asked with a laugh.

Jacqui smiled at her.

“It’s almost lunch time,” she said. “Work or not, a man’s got to eat. Why don’t you meet him?” 

“And leave you to handle the lunch rush?” Carol asked. “You don’t even have any help today.”

Jacqui smiled.

“And when have you known Andrea not to help out if I tell her I need her to smile and look pretty while she takes some orders and fills a couple glasses? I’ll throw in a free meal, make sure she has time to eat it around customers, and she’ll love it.” 

“I don’t want to put you out,” Carol said.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Jacqui offered. “But you’re putting me out more if you’re working in this condition. You have to clear your head and silence a voice before you’re any good to either one of us.” 

Carol accepted Jacqui’s assessment of the situation.

“I’ll throw something together,” Carol said.

“You check the napkin dispensers for me,” Jacqui said. “And make sure all that’s out. I’ll make something for you to eat.” Carol made a face at her and Jacqui smiled, her lip curling into the type of grin that made Carol steady herself and prepare for the woman’s teasing. “You’re dangerous in the kitchen right now, sweetie. This is better for all of us.”


	50. Chapter 50

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“I didn’t give you money for cole slaw,” Agnes scolded.

Daryl laughed to himself.

“If I don’t got money to buy a lady a cup of slaw, I can’t hardly call myself a man, Agnes,” Daryl said. “Besides—if I’da just got you chicken and potatoes, you wouldn’t have nothin’ green to eat.” 

“Does your wife know you’re taking such good care of another woman?” Agnes asked, her voice taking on the quality that it always did when she was trying to get a response from Daryl.

He laughed to himself and left the dining room, crossing into the kitchen, to get a drink for the old woman. 

He didn’t bother to respond, and he didn’t have to. Agnes was teasing him and nothing more. She believed he was married to Carol, and he didn’t correct her. Daryl told himself that he didn’t correct the woman because he didn’t want to confuse her—her mind was more easily confused than it had been in the past. There was no need to confuse her and, consequently, to upset her when she realized that she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion.

Of course, Daryl’s gut also told him that there was another reason that he didn’t correct Agnes—and that he allowed her to constantly mention his wife, ask questions about his wife, and give him a hard time about his wife’s possible jealousy surrounding the pretend relationship that Agnes teased existed between them. 

Daryl liked thinking of Carol as his wife—even if only in the safe environment of Agnes’s imagination and created world.

He liked to think of Carol as his wife, really, every chance that he got.

Daryl didn’t know what women really liked when it came to rings and things of that nature. He’d never much been around women, to be honest, and women like Agnes didn’t even wear rings for him to draw any conclusions from observing their preferences. 

He’d felt overwhelmed when the jeweler in town had taken out four trays of assorted rings in his price range. After eliminating one color band entirely, because he’d never seen Carol wear anything in that color, Daryl had only cut those four trays down into two—two trays of beautiful, sparkling, rings. 

And only one of them, he’d worried, would be the right one to get Carol to say that she’d like to be his wife outside of Agnes’s created fantasy world.

It was fast, and he knew it. It was probably too soon according to all socially created calendars for pacing relationships. Still, he felt like fast was only bad if the relationship was wrong, or if it was being entered into for the wrong reasons. The women he’d tried to shoehorn into his idea of what love should be—those would have been women that it would have been bad to give a diamond. 

But Carol? 

He loved Carol. 

He loved her until the point that loving her sometimes made it difficult to breathe. 

Daryl didn’t know, before meeting Carol, that he’d actually know what romantic love was. He loved his brother, though they didn’t often use those words or talk about those feelings, and he’d love his mother before she died, though it had been many years since he’d felt the freshness of that feeling. Daryl hadn’t known, though, what romantic love was, and he’d been afraid that he might never feel it—or that he might never recognize it if he did.

The love he felt for Carol, though, was unmistakable and undeniable, and it didn’t matter to his heart or soul that his brain said it might be too fast—everything in him cried out just to be near her and just to be assured that she would remain in his life.

She wanted to have a baby with him, and he wanted to have a baby with her. He’d always wanted children, and to have them was certainly part of the dream that he’d always entertained about how life should go, but he realized, when it came to Carol, that he wanted the baby as much for her as he could ever want it for himself. He could see, in her eyes, that she wanted it.

And Daryl wanted Carol to have everything she wanted. He wanted to give her everything she wanted.

So, he wanted to give her a baby, and his heart felt like it might actually explode when he thought that, by giving her what she wanted, he would get what he wanted, as well. 

That, he was pretty sure, was how love was supposed to work—a true symbiosis where each of them, by fulfilling each other’s dreams, would naturally find their own fulfilled. 

The diamond, then, didn’t seem like it was impossibly fast. He loved her, and he believed she loved him when she said it—whether she said the words with her mouth or she simply said it with the way that she touched him and loved him—so why shouldn’t they marry? Why shouldn’t he tell her he wanted her to marry him? If she could carry his child—the thought of which, flitting across his mind, made his hands tremble slightly as he filled a glass for Agnes in the kitchen—why shouldn’t she be his wife? 

The jeweler had been more than patient as Daryl went through every diamond in the trays, examined it, imagined it on Carol’s finger, and asked opinions of the man—and the woman working there—about which seemed the most likely to earn the most positive response of the woman that he loved.

Carol was beautiful, so the ring had to be beautiful. She was simple, though, and she didn’t like overly ornate things. Everything about her was relaxed and understated in such a way as to bring out her natural beauty—she didn’t need all the overly fancy dressings. She was still the most beautiful woman that Daryl had ever seen without all the extra.

Daryl had explained as much to the jeweler, and the lady that worked there, and together they’d helped him choose just the right ring.

It was a one and a half carat solitaire set in titanium—since Daryl had never seen Carol wear yellow gold. He’d begged the jeweler, and the lady that worked there, to promise him that it was the kind of ring that Carol would say yes to, and he’d paid for it outright, in cash, from his savings. He’d also chosen titanium wedding bands—a his and hers set—to put aside for payments since he didn’t need them until Carol actually said yes and let him know when she wanted to marry him.

He had tucked the ring into the back of his drawer at home, and so far, he hadn’t managed to go into his room for even a minute without taking it out, looking at it, and imagining how she might see it when he showed it to her for the first time.

Daryl knew, from all his movies, that the ring was very important. Brides loved the ring. It was a visible reminder that they were getting married, and they liked showing it off to their friends. Naturally, he hoped the ring was something of which Carol’s friends would approve. He knew that Michonne had a rather gaudy diamond—he’d seen it at the party—but nobody else had even been wearing a ring at all, not of any kind, despite the fact that he knew Jacqui was married to her husband who hadn’t really wanted to be at the party. 

Every bit as important as the ring, though, was the proposal.

The thought of a proposal made Daryl’s stomach feel like it turned itself inside out and liquidated itself. 

He wasn’t as creative as some of the people in his movies. He wasn’t as good with words as some of them were. He didn’t know how to arrange the perfect proposal. And, although summer was rapidly racing toward its end, he didn’t want to wait until a picturesque holiday scene to drop to one knee and offer Carol the ring that he’d chosen for her. 

He wanted to be married to her now—yesterday, even. Someone might say that the proposal was too soon, and that the relationship was moving way too fast, but that would be someone that didn’t understand that he didn’t want to even spend one more day without Carol as his wife. 

It wasn’t moving fast enough—not for Daryl. 

So, rather than wait for some distant holiday, he’d chosen, instead, to take her up on her offer to go with him, somewhere, for a weekend. He was nervous that the trip he’d chosen wouldn’t be good enough to inspire her to say yes, if such a thing was as important as it seemed in the movies, but he’d tried. As soon as he’d heard about the “Golden Oldies” event at the beach on the radio, he’d gotten the feeling that they had to go—and, later, he’d gotten the feeling that he had to take advantage of the opportunity.

He’d rented a little beach house already—built in the fifties and, although much of it had been updated, it retained a certain aged charm. He’d bought tickets to the event—really nothing more than a dance—but they were selling cheap entry tickets to ensure that they didn’t overshoot the fire safety numbers for the building on the boulevard. It was a whole weekend of golden oldies, played in the evenings, for dancing and reminiscing about the “good ole days,” whether you’d been there or not.

Daryl thought it sounded like the perfect trip for his “best girl,” though he hadn’t told her yet that she needed to pack her favorite fifties dresses, a bathing suit in case the weather was nice enough—and retained enough warmth—to spend some time on the beach during the day, and her appetite for all-you-can-eat seafood and crab legs along the coastline. 

He thought Carol would like the trip—and he would surely enjoy the chance to be with her on the trip—but he wasn’t sure that it was proposal worthy. He wasn’t sure it was the kind of trip that made a woman want to say “yes” to a ring that may or may not be the perfect one. He wasn’t sure it would make the best stories to tell later in life about how he proposed. 

It wasn’t, exactly, as romantic as the proposals he knew from his movies, and he didn’t know how important that might be, in general. 

But he could only hope that Carol would understand his intention and accept it for what it was—his best attempt.

Daryl brought the glass back into the dining room and placed it on the table next to Agnes’s food.

He was working on her cabinets. He had all the materials he needed now, and Tyreese had cleared his schedule of any other minor maintenance jobs for other clients. He was simply to focus on this job until it was done. None of them wanted Agnes toddling around her house with active construction going on for too long, so it was better not to leave the job partially done for a while. Daryl would barrel through it and get it done in as few days as possible. Agnes needed new cabinets and, as part of her agreement with Tyreese, Daryl would stain them, once they were installed, to her specifications. He was also putting new flooring in the bathroom since the flooring that was in there was lifting up at the edges and, according to Agnes’s jokes about the situation, might as well go as long as he was tearing the house down around her.

Daryl didn’t mind doing the work for her, and Tyreese didn’t mind paying Daryl to do it in a series of long days. Agnes was a good customer and she always paid her debts. Beyond that, she was practically a living legend in Living Springs—even if everyone else tired of her stories and her rambling rather quickly.

Tyreese didn’t mind the extra things that Daryl did for her, either, and encouraged him to look out for the woman. 

She liked her lunch early and had expressed that she didn’t feel like cooking. In response, Daryl had run to the place, uptown, where she wanted to get food, and he’d delivered her back the chicken and potatoes that she wanted—the slaw had been his addition. He’d grabbed himself a boxed meal, too, and though it wasn’t quite what he would consider lunch time, he figured he might as well eat with her instead of eating his food later, when it was cold.

Daryl excused himself momentarily to go to the back bathroom—the one he wasn’t disassembling—and relieve himself. The bathroom was primarily blue, and Daryl stared at the duck on the back of the toilet while he willed himself to relax enough to piss. He found it oddly difficult to relax when surrounded by unblinking ducks that stared at him like they were judging his performance and, in some strange way, disapproving of it.

When he was done, he washed his hands and made his way back to the dining room.

Agnes was wandering about in the kitchen, maybe gathering condiments or additional silverware. Maybe she’d simply gotten distracted by movement outside her window and had gone to look out and count the birds that fed at her birdfeeders or to scold the squirrels that stole the seed—the furry little creatures that, secretly, she loved.

“You gonna eat, Agnes?” Daryl asked. “You know you hate cold chicken.” 

She turned around from her spot near the window and smiled.

“I like cold chicken just fine,” she corrected. “I don’t like when you put chicken in the microwave. Dries it out. Ruins the flavor.” 

“Well, you about to eat it cold if you don’t come on,” Daryl said.

“I’ll eat. Don’t you worry about me,” Agnes said. “But your little wife is here.” 

“What you talkin’ about?” Daryl asked, his stomach flipping at the thought of Carol.

“Your wife is here,” Agnes said. “And from the looks of it, she’s brought you something better than store chicken, Daryl.” Agnes winked at him. “She’s brought you something made with love.” 

Daryl’s heart pounded, and it went beyond Agnes’s joking. 

He’d been texting Carol—nearly every chance he got to put down a hammer and pick up his phone—and he’d talked to her at night until she simply stopped talking and fell asleep on the other end of the line, but he hadn’t seen her in a few days. He’d had too much on his plate to try to get done so that everything was ready for the trip that she hadn’t even agreed to take yet. 

Just the very thought of her—of seeing her—could make his heart pound and his stomach grow butterflies. 

He rushed to the window, hoping that Agnes wasn’t confusing some strange woman for his imaginary wife, and he saw Carol outside. She was standing by her car, a large bag in hand, staring at the house like she wasn’t certain if she should approach it or run away from it. 

“You tell her to come inside,” Agnes said. “Don’t you leave her out there in the yard.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“You start eatin’,” he said. “There ain’t no need for your food to get cold. Don’t wait.” 

“I won’t wait,” Agnes said. “But you tell her to come inside.”

Daryl nodded, quickly stepping out the door.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I will. And you can have mine—if you want it.”


	51. Chapter 51

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I posted another one earlier today, so please don’t miss that one, and don’t forget to leave me a little love if you like it! 

I hope you enjoy this chapter, too! Let me know what you think! 

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“Should I go?” Carol asked immediately when Daryl stepped outside. He lit a cigarette and shook his head. 

“Not unless you got somewhere to be,” he offered, crossing the yard. “I didn’t expect to see you, though. You didn’t text.” 

“I wanted to surprise you,” Carol said. “I stopped by your work. Tyreese said you were here and you wouldn’t mind. You were probably going to be here through lunch. I didn’t think about it, but—you maybe don’t like surprises.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“I don’t like surprises,” he said. “Unless it’s you that’s surprisin’ me. And they’re good surprises. I don’t like bad surprises.”

“Is this a good surprise?” Carol asked, hugging the bag that Daryl assumed held food. He reached her and grabbed her upper arm with his free hand. He kneaded the muscle in his fingers. He leaned and kissed her, trying to answer her question with the kiss. He held it a tick or two longer than he’d intended because he realized, immediately, how much he’d missed her lips.

She smiled at him when the kiss had broken. He smiled to himself. It seemed that she may have gotten the message.

“Best surprise,” he offered. “Seeing you, unexpected? Always the best surprise…”

Immediately, though, his stomach knotted on itself. Carol didn’t often surprise him at work. She’d been there before—actually when he’d been working for Agnes—but she didn’t surprise him with any regularity. He felt an almost instant concern rising up in him that there might be more to this visit, and he could only hope it was good—especially since she’d looked a little uncomfortable before he’d kissed her.

“You—feelin’ OK?” Daryl asked. “You OK—I mean…with everything we been talkin’ about and…all…is everything OK?” 

She furrowed her brow at him. He stared back at her. After what seemed like a long while, but was probably little more than an actual passing second, her mouth formed a perfect “O” and her eyebrows raised.

“Oh,” she said, giving word to what was on her lips. “Oh—no. You mean about the…no…I mean everything’s OK. I mean—it’s probably not going to happen. That probably isn’t, but…even if it were? It would be too soon for—anything. I think. I’m sure…it would be too soon.”

Daryl’s muscles unknotted themselves a little. He nodded his head and continued to squeeze the upper part of Carol’s arm where he was holding to her. 

“Too soon—that’s fine, right? At least it’s all good. You’re OK. That’s all that matters, right?”

Carol smiled at him. It was just the soft half-smile.

“It’s probably not going to happen,” she said. “And you’re OK with that, right? I mean—if it doesn’t ever happen? Because if you’re not…”

“Hey,” Daryl said quickly, recognizing a spiral before it even began. “It might happen. And you’re OK with that, right?” He smiled at her. “Because if you ain’t…”

She laughed quietly, perhaps in spite of herself, and requested another kiss with her eyes—Daryl felt he could practically see the request there. He obliged her. 

“Don’t be negative,” he said. “I get it. I do. I promise. I’m not stupid and I’m not dense. Might not happen. But I can’t help but think—with the whole damn thing? It’s gotta be better to just be positive. And I’m positive that there’s at least a chance because I don’t know a whole hell of a lot about how it all works, but I know the basics of how it happens—and I know we’re pretty good at taking the necessary steps and performing all the necessary tasks.” 

She smiled, and the smile immediately morphed into the teasing expression she got when she cocked her eyebrows a certain way. Daryl was always happy to see that expression. It meant she was really relaxing from whatever run around might be happening in her mind. The expression immediately made him relax.

“I don’t know,” Carol said. “It’s been three days. What if—we missed our window because you…disappeared on me?” 

“Did we miss a window? You didn’t tell me there was a window,” Daryl said, his stomach tightening at the very thought that, maybe, he’d been careless about such things.

“There’s always a window,” Carol said. “It’s either the right day or—it’s not.” 

“If you’da told me there was a window, I’da found a way to at least run by…even though I been kinda busy…”

She laughed. 

“That is, by far, the least romantic thing I think you’ve ever said to me,” Carol said.

“I swear I didn’t mean…”

“It’s OK,” Carol said quickly. “In its own way, it’s…actually oddly romantic, too. I like it.”

“That don’t make a damn bit of sense, Carol.” 

“Am I allowed to—sometimes not make sense?” 

“As much as you want,” Daryl said. “You yankin’ me around or…did I really fuck it up and miss our window?” 

When she looked at him the way she was looking at him, Daryl felt a sensation run through his entire body. It was a simple expression—not quite a smile—but it made him feel like he’d done something right every time she looked at him that way.

She had a way of simply making him feel like he was “right” in every way that mattered.

“Mostly I’m just teasing you,” she said. “There is a window, but…I don’t know when it is, Daryl. And if we missed it?” She just shrugged.

“There’s another one,” Daryl offered, half as statement and half as question. He was hopeful, but he wouldn’t surprised to find out there were things he never even knew about the whole process of making entirely new human beings from scratch.

She nodded. 

“If there are any at all, there will be another one,” she said. “I was worried, though…”

“Worried?” 

Daryl finished his cigarette and leaned down to scrub it out on the grass. He dropped the butt in his pocket. He threw them away in the trash can, in the house, as Agnes directed. He would have dared to leave a mess for her.

“I was thinking maybe—you’d changed your mind,” Carol said. “Maybe it was too much. So, you just…stopped coming.” 

The sincerity of her words hit Daryl like a punch in the gut.

“Why would you think that?” Daryl asked.

She shrugged.

“You didn’t—ask for next time,” Carol said. “I didn’t know—when next time was supposed to be. And it is a lot…and I could understand if you changed your mind.” 

“Holy shit,” Daryl said, his heart pounding for an entirely different reason in his chest. “Carol—I told you I’ma always want next time. I just—I had a lot that I was doin’ and I wanted to get it done before I told you about all of it. That’s all…and I weren’t sure how long it would take me…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Carol said.

“If it’s got you thinkin’ I’m not comin’ back or I changed my damn mind, I do,” Daryl said quickly. “I didn’t change my mind. I won’t. Carol—I get stuck on shit and you can’t hardly get me off of it if you want to. You can ask Merle. I’m like a dog with a bone when I get stuck on somethin’. It’ll just about drive him nuts ‘cause I just can’t get off of it. Not if it matters to me. And I’m real damn stuck on you. More than I ever been stuck on anything in my life.”

Her eyes were damp, and Daryl immediately felt bad. She’d been afraid to confess her feelings to him, and he could tell that she was sincere. She’d worried that, facing the idea of the baby they’d discussed and, possibly, whatever other implications that might have, Daryl had simply decided to slip out of her life. 

She’d worried that he’d just planned to disappear, quietly, and without a big show of things.

And he understood because, sometimes, he was woken up in the middle of the night by the same kind of fear.

It was always better, though, when it happened on the nights when she was right beside him—sleeping peacefully. He could just look at her, and touch her even, to remind himself that she was there and she wasn’t running away from him because she was too busy sleeping next to him.

“I shouldn’t have been paranoid,” Carol offered quietly.

“We all get paranoid,” Daryl said. “I do—ten or twelve times a day.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come…” Carol said. 

“I wish you wouldn’t say that,” Daryl said. “I’m happier to see you than…than I got words for. At least, good ones. Come inside. Eat lunch?” 

Carol looked beyond him, toward the house. 

“You’re on the job,” she said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Agnes ain’t gonna care if I take a break to eat lunch with you,” Daryl said. “In fact—I was gonna eat lunch anyway. And I’d much rather eat it with you. Besides—I’d bet you just about anything she’s just inside, prob’ly got a drumstick or somethin’ in her hand. Watchin’ us out that kitchen window. She’d have a fit if I was to let you go without bringin’ you inside to meet her.” 

Carol smiled. 

“You want me to meet your client?” She asked.

“She’s a bit more’n that,” Daryl said. “Though it’s hard to explain.” 

“I know,” Carol said sincerely. “Ty told me. You—want me to meet her?” 

“I want you to meet every damn body I know,” Daryl said. “And—to be honest? Once you meet Agnes, you just about have.”

“You’re sure you’re not mad that I—just came barging over to your job?” 

“I’m sure that I ain’t never gonna be unhappy to see you, Carol. Never. Not a single damn day of my life. OK?” 

She nodded, smiling softly to herself. 

“I’m sorry—I guess I just…let my mind run away with me.”

“Happens to all of us,” Daryl said. “To tell you the truth—it does wonders for my mind just…knowin’ yours ran away, so you come here to straighten things out. But—now I’m worried about if I really did fuck us up somehow. Miss some kinda important window.” 

“It’ll be OK,” Carol said. “No matter if we missed it, or we didn’t…even if it was the last one.” 

“Don’t say that,” Daryl said.

“It might be true…”

“But I don’t like the negative,” Daryl said. “Please? Just—don’t be negative.”

“That’s easier said than done when it might be true, Daryl…”

“Then every time you think of it, just think of the positive,” Daryl said. “Like it’s a story, right? But a story you’re tellin’ yourself. Sharin’ with me. Like one of your books.”

“Like your movies?” Carol asked with a laugh.

Daryl nodded.

“Tell yourself the happy damn story because life’s too short for the sad ones.”

Carol slipped her hand in his and he squeezed her fingers in his. She sighed quietly, but he heard it. It was a sound of contentment. It made his heart swell to think that he made her make that sound. It made his heart pound, too, to think that she’d clearly truly missed him. He’d missed her, of course, but he’d never imagined that she would miss him the same way. He didn’t like that she’d been unhappy—not even for a moment—but he did like knowing that she missed him.

“Come in? Eat—if Jacqui don’t need you?” 

Carol laughed to herself.

“I’ve been kind of clumsy,” Carol said. “Distracted. Jacqui wants me to be gone however long it takes for—for that to pass. It’s better for everyone, and the whole café, if I take my time.” 

“You ain’t hurt yourself?”

“No. Just—stupid little things.”

“Distracted, huh?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Over me?” Daryl asked, raising his eyebrows at her. She immediately narrowed her eyes at him, but the smile didn’t leave her lips entirely.

“Asshole,” she muttered. 

Daryl laughed. He squeezed her hand and reached, taking the bag from her that he should have taken a while ago instead of forcing her to stand there and hold it. She didn’t protest. 

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go meet Agnes. Now—I gotta warn you, she’s pretty dead set on the fact that we’re married and…I ain’t set her straight because she gets kinda upset if she finds out she’s all tangled up in some way.” 

“Don’t worry,” Carol said. “I wouldn’t dream of upsetting her.”

“You don’t mind that—she thinks we’re married?” 

“No,” Carol said. “I don’t mind, Daryl.” 

The way that she said it—so sincerely and even a little bit forcefully—made Daryl’s stomach feel like the whole swarm of butterflies that lived in there, at times, was active again. He tugged her hand to bring her with him, and she came willingly. 

“Daryl—” she said, tugging back on his hand to stop him again. He stopped and looked at her, brow furrowed, concerned about her sudden change in tone of voice. He hummed to prompt her to continue. “Just—to know. When’s—the next time you’re coming over?” 

The butterflies in Daryl’s stomach banded together to perform a large loop all at once.

“Tonight,” he said. “After work. Might be a little late, but I’m comin’ over.”

She looked as pleased as he felt.

“I don’t want you to think I’m pushing you…”

“Believe me, you don’t have to push.” Daryl offered, tugging her hand to get her moving toward the door again. “There’s no place I’d rather sleep than beside you.”


	52. Chapter 52

AN: Here we are, another chapter here! 

It appears some people might have missed the past two updates (from last weekend), so please don’t forget to read those first! 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Carol had thought that the fire that burned low in her belly and seemed to spread beyond to her groins was probably entirely inappropriate to experience while having a friendly lunch with the woman that Tyreese had identified as the oldest living person in Living Springs, Georgia.

She couldn’t help the almost painful sensation in her body, though, and she couldn’t control it. It surprised her, really, but she had accepted it as something she’d simply have to keep to herself.

Agnes was a small framed woman, and her eyes looked almost like owl eyes behind thick glasses. She was cheerful, though, and it was clear that she adored Daryl. Tyreese, Michonne, and Daryl had all given her enough information to piece together that Agnes paid Tyreese to have all her maintenance problems solved and, often, Tyreese would simply schedule Daryl so that entire days of work for him were built around Agnes’s needs—whether or not they were truly handy-work or not.

Carol had watched Daryl interact with Agnes and, honestly, that was what had begun the warm feeling inside her that had bubbled and simmered throughout the day.

Daryl cared for Agnes, but what had most caught Carol’s attention was that he had nothing to gain from the old woman. Whether he did work for her or work for someone else throughout Living Springs, he was good at what he did, and Tyreese would have found work to fill his hours and earn him his paycheck. There was a reason that Daryl was specifically chosen for working with the old woman. Daryl wasn’t doing this for the money alone. In addition, if Carol had ever convinced herself, for even a moment, that Daryl’s unfailing kindness and tenderness was a result of simply hoping to get sexual favors from her, that concern was immediately dashed when she saw him with Agnes. He had no such interest in the woman, and yet he treated her with the same unwavering patience and kindness.

He’d introduced Carol to Agnes as his wife, in keeping with the woman’s beliefs about their relationship, and he’d introduced Agnes to Carol as his girlfriend with a laugh. The old woman had been genuinely flattered, and she’d blushed like she was a school girl instead of a woman of possibly over a hundred years of age.

Carol had enjoyed meeting her and talking to her. She’d accepted Agnes’s invitation to “come back sometime” to share a meal or some coffee. More than anything, though Carol had enjoyed watching Daryl as he quietly cared for the woman, pushing food in her direction, refilling her glass along with Carol’s, and generally taking an interest in her well-being.

The feeling in Carol’s belly and groin—the burning ache—had stayed with her through the day.

And she’d texted Daryl as much when she knew that his workday was drawing to an end. 

Her face had been as hot as any other part of her body when she’d sent the text that was uncharacteristic of her and a little embarrassing—but she trusted that he wouldn’t embarrass her for it.

“I want you so badly it hurts. I’ve wanted you all day.” 

It was simple. Maybe it wasn’t scandalous at all—she knew it wasn’t too scandalous when she thought about things that she knew that Andrea would sit and compose on her phone like she was writing some kind of explicit instruction manual for sex. It felt scandalous, though, and Carol had laughed to herself when Daryl had texted her back. His text had only made her heart join in the aching for him.

He sent her an emoji of wide-open eyes, and then texted that he was on his way.

In another moment of possibly acting entirely inappropriate, Carol had basically thrown herself at him when he’d come in the door, but Daryl hadn’t judged her for her enthusiasm. Instead, he’d simply lifted her off her feet and carried her, laughing, directly to her bedroom. 

And there, he’d asked her what she’d become accustomed to hearing from him, though she’d never been asked by anyone else before. 

“What do you want?” 

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Daryl’s half-concealed laughter rumbled in his throat as he opened the bathroom door.

“I don’t know, Carol,” he mused. “You got a nice blouse or some shit to go with my skirt? Shit feels incomplete.”

He stepped out wearing the kilt. It wasn’t the highest quality, of course, but it was higher quality than she might have imagined from a novelty shop. He’d chosen a blue and green tartan, and of the two styles of kilts that had been on offer, he’d chosen the one that most resembled the actual garment instead of the garish one meant for nothing more than putting himself on display.

Carol shifted, seated on the side of the bed, the moment she saw him. 

His body was perfect—at least to her. His muscles were beautiful. He was clearly strong, and she’d witnessed as much, but his strength didn’t scare her. She realized that, looking at the way his muscles moved under his skin as he examined the garment fastened around his waist. 

Like Ed, he could break her bones if he wanted. He could rip her joints loose from their sockets, tearing tissues and ligaments just to hear her howl. He could crush her windpipe and make her beg for mercy with what she feared would be the last breaths she took.

He could crumple her, like paper, if he wanted.

Unlike Ed, though, he didn’t want that. He would never want that. He didn’t want to use his strength against her in that way. Instead, he preferred to use his strength for things like lifting her, at the door, and carrying her through the house to make clear his hope for the way they would pass the evening.

“I love you,” Carol blurted out, surprising even herself. She’d been desperate to say it, though. Her mind had offered her no other words.

If Daryl thought the statement was inappropriate, he didn’t say so. Instead, he grinned at her with that crooked smile.

“Love you, too,” he said. “Me wearin’ a skirt an’ gettin’ in touch with my feminine side really melts your butter?” He asked, teasing.

Carol laughed to herself. She stood up and walked over to him. She was wearing nothing more than a short cotton gown that he’d chosen from her drawer—liking it as much for its softness as its appearance. She ran her fingers over his shoulders and arms, feeling his strength as she touched his muscles.

“There’s nothing feminine about you,” Carol assured him. “You’re—all man. In—all the best ways.” 

Daryl hummed at her in such a satisfied way as he held her face and kissed her, that Carol only felt the aching between her legs intensify. She’d daydreamed about some dramatic, long-lasting romp with Daryl, but most of her would have simply been satisfied if he’d thrown her on the bed right then and there—with the same directness he’d used to carry her to the bedroom—and satisfied the hunger she felt gnawing its way through her belly.

“What’cha want?” He asked. “What’s your fantasy, I mean? That goes with…this?” 

Carol smiled at him. 

“I guess—like the book,” Carol said. “Something like—almost anything that happens between Duncan and Elizabeth.” 

Daryl stared at her. His throat bobbed. He almost looked like he’d seen a ghost. Carol raised her eyebrows at him.

“Did I say something wrong?” She asked.

“You mean—like the book I just read?” Daryl asked. He’d only recently returned some of her books and taken a selection more of them. He could finish a book in two days, even if he was reading most of it on the couch near her while she read something of her own. He devoured words quickly and easily.

Carol smiled at him and nodded. 

“Is that—OK?” 

“I don’t think I can do that,” Daryl said. 

“Why not?” 

“I didn’t like that book, Carol. I don’t like a lot of them Scottish books you got,” he admitted. “But—in that one? I didn’t like Duncan one damn bit.” 

Carol laughed to herself. She hadn’t meant for this to turn into a book club conversation, but it appeared that they were going to have to discuss this before they could move forward much more.

“Why not?” She asked.

“I felt like there was—a couple times that—that she weren’t interested,” Daryl said. “She didn’t wanna do what the hell he wanted, and he just went ahead any damn way. And—I don’t like that.” He visibly squared his shoulders and Carol couldn’t help but laugh quietly to herself. She didn’t feel threatened by the movement. Instead, she felt like it was the physical manifestation of Daryl’s mental decision to stand his ground.

“I understand what you’re saying,” Carol said. “I felt like—that was always a bit like a…well…like this. A game. I felt like…they understood that they were…interested. What she said wasn’t necessarily what she meant. I mean, based on the descriptions of how she felt…”

Daryl’s expression didn’t shift. He set his jaw to match the squaring of his shoulders. He shook his head gently.

“She didn’t say that,” Daryl said. 

“Some people like to play different games like that,” Carol said. She knew, from conversations, that some people enjoyed things that they didn’t even like sharing with their partners too much. Andrea, for instance, had some interests that she had shared with Shane and, honestly, had instantly regretted it. He’d never failed to taunt her for her “perversions” after that. He’d taunted her so much for it in the beginning, that she’d actually gotten hives once over the stress she felt, fearing he’d say something in the wrong place and to the wrong people. “It’s just fantasy, though. They have like—some word that you’d never say while having sex. And that’s the off word that tells their partner they’re not playing for a minute. Like an off switch.” 

Daryl’s expression softened slightly.

“A switch?” 

Carol nodded.

“Like—what’s a word we’d never use during sex?” 

Daryl thought for a moment.

“Toaster?” 

Carol laughed to herself.

“Perfect,” she said, stepping forward and bringing them closer together. She kissed his jaw, and Daryl softened under her touch. He relaxed and wrapped his arms around her. “So—if we played—then we could pretend anything. And we would know it was all pretend. Even if I told you ‘no,’ or ‘stop,’ or whatever? You’d know I was just playing if I didn’t say toaster.”

“You like that?” Daryl asked. Carol felt him tense. She nuzzled against him.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I know—what it is when you’re not playing, Daryl. I know what that feels like. Ed taught me that.” 

“Jesus,” Daryl spat. He pushed her out from him to look at her. He immediately caught her face and held it—a little harder than he meant to. “I’m sorry…”

Carol smiled to herself.

“You don’t apologize for him,” she said. “You’re not guilty of his sins. Right? I just thought—the book makes it seem so…passionate. You know? It’s like—so—animalistic. But they like being together…so it’s just a game. That’s how I read it. I thought I might—like that. At least, that I might like to try it.”

Daryl stared at her, hard, and his blue eyes pierced into her. After a long moment of clearly trying to find the right answer he shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t do it. I can wear the skirt. I can—put on some kinda fake ass accent for you…even though I ain’t sure it’s gonna really be Scottish because the only damn thing I think I know they say is some shit like ‘aye, lassie,’ and that ain’t gonna get us but so far. But—I can’t hurt you. And I can’t—have sex with you while you’re sayin’ you don’t wanna do it. Not even if it’s pretend. I just can’t fuckin’ do that, Carol.” 

Carol could feel the tension radiating out from his body. She could see the quick rising and falling of his chest. He was on the verge of panic from imagining it. 

She kissed him, without hesitation, and he tensed against the kiss for a second before sinking into it and wrapping his arms around her. He dragged her body roughly to his. The kiss was hungry. Despite all of this, she could feel his enthusiasm.

She smiled at him when the kiss broke, and she stroked his forehead to try to wipe away the intense concern that had settled there.

“It’s OK,” she promised him. “It’s OK,” she soothed. “I promise. You wouldn’t ask me to do something I really didn’t want to do, and…I’m not going to ask you. It was just an idea. OK? Just—a thought about…what I might want. But anything is OK with me. I want you any way you…any way you want to be with me. All that matters is that you’re—super sexy and I just wanted, I guess, more than anything? To feel like—you couldn’t stand how much you wanted me. Like—I could barely stand it all day how much I wanted you. Like you were—out of control.” 

Daryl stared hard at her a moment, and then he slowly softened a little.

“I maybe—I can’t do that. I just can’t—not what you asked first. I hated that book ‘cause of it. But—I do want you, Carol.” Carol’s body responded to the simple words with a renewed flood of warmth and the return of the ache. 

“Yeah?” She asked.

He nodded. He laughed to himself.

“More than I’d have words for even if I read the damn dictionary every day like Merle does,” he said. “I think about you all the fuckin’ time. The whole time I’m awake, and then I even dream about you when I go to sleep.”

Carol slipped her hands around and cupped his ass through the kilt. She squeezed him. She smirked at his expression when he cocked an eyebrow at her. 

“You horny as hell, aren’t you?” He asked, his voice instantly becoming a bit grittier, as it always did when his interest was well and truly piqued.

“I’m can’t stand it,” Carol admitted. “It hurts I want you so bad.” 

“I can’t do what the hell he done,” Daryl said. “But—if all you wantin’ is like the…you said animalistic or whatever?” 

“Mmm hmmm…” Carol hummed, her body already responding to the mere suggestion that he might do what she wanted—some version of it. 

“What’s animalistic?” He asked.

“Hard,” Carol said. “Rough. Like you can’t stand it, either. You have to have…everything…now.” 

The kilt did nothing to hide Daryl’s arousal when they were so close together, and Carol was amused that her words only made him grow harder. 

“That shit I can do,” he growled.

“Please?” Carol requested, giving him the permission that he seemed to need and crave.

He didn’t disappoint her. 

Given permission to do what he wanted, and knowing a bit of what she wanted, Daryl took her up on her word that he was free to act—at least until she told him otherwise. She’d laughed, when he’d thrown her at the bed, more out of the strange sense of overwhelming excitement and exhilaration than anything else. Even though she hadn’t asked or expected it, she accepted when Daryl roughly dragged her panties off her legs—neither of them needing or bothering to get rid of any other garment in the heat of things—and buried his face between her thighs—his tongue doing the best it could to lick away the flames that had been burning there all day. He had a very clear oral fixation, and Carol had already figured out that he did this for her, but he did it for himself as well. She wasn’t one to complain because it happened to be one fascination that he had that certainly didn’t cause her any problem at all.

His unbridled enthusiasm came through as he satiated whatever hunger he’d clearly been feeling for a few days. She found something oddly attractive about the sight of him, with a satisfied smile on his face, wiping his arm across his mouth as he rearranged her body and brought them together with one hard, fast thrust that gave way to the desperate, driving actions she’d practically begged him for. He held her wrists pinned together above her head, the strength of his fingers clear to her when she realized that, one-handed, he could well and truly hold them there. The other hand supported him in his efforts to hold the position he wanted with his body.

He growled his satisfaction, only occasionally stealing a kiss or lightly sinking his teeth into Carol’s shoulder and biting at her collarbone or lips, while he worked for his release.

Almost immediately after he came, he collapsed next to her and drew her into him, trapping her with his body in case she might have thought about escaping him. Her muscles ached from the exertion of trying to keep up with him—to help him find what he wanted. The residual sting of bites lingered—some harder than she was sure he’d intended. The ache between her legs that had been there before was gone and replaced by a different kind of ache entirely. Her body buzzed with a pleasurable pain, and Daryl nuzzled at her neck—one animal need ebbing to give way to another.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he panted. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

Carol smiled to herself. She hummed at him.

“If you hurt me like that, you’re welcome to hurt me any time,” Carol offered.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked.

Carol patted his arm. 

“Only in good ways,” Carol reassured him. “Wanted ways.” 

He nuzzled his face hard against her, practically slamming into her with the need to be closer—but there was no way to be any closer than they were. Their sweaty bodies were flush against each other with nothing but their slightly sweat-damp clothing between them. Carol gave herself over to him, like a ragdoll, for him to fit her to his body in every way possible and absorb whatever he needed in the afterglow. She sighed at the comfort of feeling as thoroughly wrapped up in his love as she could possibly get.

“Kilt or not,” Carol offered, laughing to herself, “there’s nothing feminine about you, Daryl.” 

“Asshole,” he teased, laughing quietly. Carol laughed in response. For a moment, they simply lie together, entangled in one another. Finally, Daryl broke the silence. Carol could hear physical exhaustion in his voice. “You really think—me bein’ gone made us miss our window? For a baby and all?” 

“I hope not,” Carol said, her stomach tightening. 

Daryl rubbed his face against her again and squeezed her a little, tightening his arms where he already held her. 

“Me, too,” Daryl admitted. “I love you…”

“I love you, too,” Carol said. She laughed to herself again. “And I’m not just saying that because—you fulfill all my fantasies.” 

“Asshole,” Daryl said again, laughing in his throat.

“I’m serious,” Carol offered.

“Yeah, well…you are my fantasy…so…”

He didn’t finish, but it was fine. He didn’t have to. Carol smiled to herself and snuggled back against him, meeting his efforts to get closer to her with her own efforts to close the gap that didn’t exist between them.


	53. Chapter 53

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I guess you could call this part one of the beach getaway.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl didn’t tell Carol all the details of the trip—just when they were leaving, what she should pack, and when they would expect to get back. He’d cleared the time off with Tyreese without a problem and, then, he’d personally spoken to Andrea and Jacqui—thanks to Andrea’s ability to help him get in touch with Carol’s business partner—to be able to assure Carol that the business would continue to run in her absence, even if it meant that he would have to pay Andrea, out of his own pocket, to pass up on any extra clients for those days and shift her time to helping Jacqui, which Andrea assured him wasn’t necessary, but the promise helped calm Carol’s jitters.

The women had been more than happy to help Daryl convince Carol that the trip wasn’t going to make the whole world implode. All he had to say was that it was his first—though hopefully not his last—attempt to take Carol away on a romantic trip, and her friends had gone into high gear convincing her that everything was fine for them to take a long weekend and, even, that Andrea could guarantee the house would be fine because she’d swing by and check on things in Carol’s absence.

Carol had never been on a romantic trip before.

The honeymoon trip that she and Ed had planned had never happened. They couldn’t afford it after they first got married and, from what she told Daryl, it had never happened later because the spark had pretty thoroughly left their marriage by the time they could have afforded such a thing—not that Ed would have wanted to spend the money or that Carol would have pushed him to spend a dime on anything that he could later throw back in her face.

Daryl had promised her that he’d take full responsibility for anything on the trip, and he wouldn’t throw a thing back in her face—and then it had been his turn to panic that, just maybe, he’d really hyped the trip up far more than it merited. He’d called it a romantic trip, after all, and he’d barely been able to control his own excitement over the whole thing, but that was because he had such high hopes for the trip. Broken down to its most basic components, it really wasn’t that impressive—it wasn’t even all that he wanted it to be. It couldn’t compete, for instance, with any of the extravagant trips that people took in Carol’s books or in his movies.

And just as he’d begun to think the whole thing was a disaster, and as he explained, to Carol, that it wasn’t going to be nearly what he was sure she’d want, she’d done the simplest thing she could, and it had stopped his heart from racing wildly in his chest.

She’d reached across the seat, slipped her fingers through his, and leaned enough to put her head against his arm.

“It’s already perfect,” she assured him. “Because—we’re going on a trip together. And you planned it. And it’s already the most romantic trip I could ever imagine.” She’d smiled at him then—sincerely and all the way to her eyes, and Daryl probably could have run the rest of the way to the beach on the adrenaline that look, alone, sent surging through his system. “It’s even better than the books, Daryl. And the movies. Because they’re not real. And I love you.” 

That burst of confidence had carried Daryl through most of the day. When they reached the little beach house, he’d opened it up and let Carol inside to start opening the windows. The owner had said that it was always best to air the place a few minutes just as they arrived. Still, the smell was strangely welcoming. Daryl brought their bags in, and all the food that Carol had purchased and packed in a cooler and a duffle bag so they didn’t have to go grocery shopping for their basics—all wrapped in heavy black trash bags in case it had decided to rain on them while they were driving down in the truck—and he had turned the water and the hot water heater on while Carol had put the clean linens, left out for them, on the bed.

All the while, Carol had loudly squealed about every single aspect of the humble little beach house built in the 1950s, and Daryl’s confidence had grown with every word of happiness and approval.

He arranged the rocking chairs on the front porch and suggested that, after walking down to the beach for a quick bite at one of the seafood restaurants that was only a mile or so away, they might spend the late evening simply enjoying each other’s company on the porch while the weather was good—before they slipped off to the later plans he had for them.

He’d asked Carol if she wanted to drive to their early dinner, but she wanted to walk, so he’d happily slipped his hand in hers and walked with her down to the seafood restaurant. Carol had been thrilled when the all-you-can-eat crab legs had come in a large bucket, and Daryl hadn’t had to urge her to eat without regard for whatever belief she often held about the potential of her weight to shift dramatically over night. 

As the night wore on, Daryl was amazed at his own body’s reaction. He had never before been so strangely calm and so utterly nervous at the same time. It was as though he had split in half and there were two of him rattling around inside his brain and body.

He was nervous about asking her to marry him—everything was planned out for Saturday night—but, at the same time, absolutely everything about Carol calmed him. 

He’d heard it a thousand times on his movies—when you meet the one, you just know it. They complete you in a way that nobody else can. 

Carol made him feel something that he couldn’t even explain. She made him feel, at all times, like he was “home,” except that home had ceased to be a physical place and, instead, almost seemed like some kind of higher plane where the two of them existed together in the sort-of-symbiosis that Daryl had recognized growing between them.

Stuffed to the proverbial gills with seafood, they’d walked back to the house, hand-in-hand, declaring that the walk was a good choice because it was the only way they had any chance of getting so much food to even begin to digest a little. Carol made them after-dinner coffee, and they rocked on the porch together as the evening settled around them. 

Carol lightly hooked her fingers through Daryl’s as they rocked. The air was still, but not as unbearably hot as it would have been before the summer started to die. And Daryl closed his eyes, drinking in the feeling that, for that particular moment, everything was absolutely right in the universe.

Daryl almost hated to finally tell Carol that they needed to change to head to their next destination. She’d gladly changed into one of her dresses—a white and pink one that Daryl hadn’t seen before. She’d tried to beg from him some information about where they were going, but he’d simply told her that she didn’t get to spoil the surprise, no matter how much she teasingly begged him to tell her.

The place was small, but crowded. It wasn’t directly on the beach. Rather, it was a short walk from the beach. Daryl parked with the other cars, and insisted that Carol wait for him to open her door. She did, grinning at him as he offered her a hand and helped her from the truck.

Immediately, she was probably able to guess what was going on. The vintage weekend blast would span the fifties and the sixties, and many people had chosen to drive cars from those years to add to the effect for everyone that had bought a ticket. For a moment, before heading to the building where sounds of decade-friendly music were already spilling out into the night, Daryl walked with Carol through the parking lot to simply admire the cars that people had brought to show off a little.

With the way that she hugged his arm, Daryl didn’t have to ask if she was happy with the plans that he’d made for them. 

At the door, there was a man who took Daryl’s name. Daryl had ordered their tickets—for both nights—over the phone. Daryl could already see that the were turning people away who didn’t have tickets. The place was simply too small to accommodate too many people and, though people were welcome to stand outside and listen to the music, they couldn’t simply walk up at this point and enter the building.

Inside, Daryl found a spot for them at a high-top table, and he led Carol to it. 

“You want a drink or somethin’?” He asked.

She smiled to herself.

“Something—fitting,” she said. “Surprise me?” 

Daryl already had an idea in mind, so he nodded and accepted her request. He worked his way through the crowd and put in their orders at the bar. 

While he was waiting for drinks, he spoke to a couple of people waiting around him and took in the atmosphere around them. The dance floor was marked off to allow people to have room for dancing. It was crowded—maybe a touch more crowded than he would have liked for it to be in an ideal world—and people seemed to be having fun as music piped out from every direction. He could see that, while costumes had not been required in any form or fashion, many people had taken the opportunity to dust off clothing that was appropriate to the eras. 

A lot of the people seemed to have arrived in couples, but there was more than enough that rambled about, single, and clearly looking for someone to share a few dances with. The crowd, overall, appeared to be everywhere from their sixties, or older, in age down to their forties. 

Daryl wasn’t truly surprised, though, at the demographic. 

He opened a tab to pay for their drinks, thanked the bartender for them, and worked his way back toward the table where he’d left Carol. She was standing there, waiting on him, with her arm on the table so that she could lean against it. 

Across the small high-top table was a man—one of the men who’d come dressed in something like period-appropriate attire—with his gray hair slicked back with some kind of gel. He was smiling at Carol, and was leaning over the table to the point where he was very close to invading what Daryl might have considered Carol’s personal space.

Daryl picked up his steps a little and made it to the table. He put his drink down and passed Carol hers immediately. The man looked at him. His face fell, slightly, and he straightened up. 

Good.

The smile returned, but it was a different smile now. The man cut his eyes toward Carol like he was trying to read her reaction to Daryl’s arrival—like he was trying to see if he still might have a chance.

Carol was smiling at Daryl, and she thanked him for her drink.

“What is it?” She asked, hesitating to take a sip until she’d prepared her brain and mouth for what it was about to receive. 

“Diet Coke,” Daryl said, “’cause I know you don’t like the regular stuff. Cherry syrup and vodka. That OK?” 

Carol let out the sweet little satisfied sound that Daryl had come to recognize, ever since Daryl had started loading her bags in the truck for their romantic getaway, as a squeal of pleasure. Daryl had heard other women make a similar sound—for one reason or another—and it had always grated on his nerves like a cheese grater to freshly sunburned skin. When Carol made her sweet little sound, though, it only served to make his pulse hop a few beats faster for a second. 

It was undeniable proof that, not only had he done well, but she was overwhelmed with her happiness about every single moment he’d arranged so far. The amount of approval in the sound was enough, honestly, to damn near give Daryl a hard-on from the rush it gave him.

Daryl stared at the man leaning on the table. He expected the Fonzie-wannabe to understand Carol’s happiness and to slip into the crowd with his tail tucked between his legs, but he hung around like he belonged at the table.

“Sorry—do we know you?” Daryl asked. Daryl didn’t like the man’s expression. He knew when he was being sized up, and he didn’t appreciate the practice—especially not when he could size the man up, just as quickly. Fonzie might have more money than him, because he certainly looked the type, but he was no physical match for Daryl—and he certainly was no match when it came to how much he could possibly be interested in Carol. 

Still, Daryl felt the silent challenge crackle in the air between them, for a second, before it dissipated.

“Name’s Rob,” he said. He looked around. “Place is crowded and—when I see a beautiful woman by herself…I guess it’s only natural to ask if she has room to share.” 

“She ain’t by herself, Rob,” Daryl offered. “She’s with me—as you can see.” 

“Rob just wanted to use the table,” Carol said, happily drinking her drink and somewhat swaying with the music. 

Daryl laughed to himself. He was almost certain, given her expression and tone of voice, that Carol naively believed that. 

“Course he did,” Daryl mused. “I tell you what, Rob—you can certainly use the table. We’re gonna dance.” 

“You don’t want your drink?” Carol asked.

Daryl’s drink was a beer. He’d drank part of it at the bar, immediately upon accepting it from the bartender, and he drank down another part of it in a long swallow. 

“I’m sure Rob won’t mind watchin’ the drinks,” Daryl said, “as long as he’s holdin’ onto the table.” 

Carol took another long draw on the straw in her drink and accepted Daryl’s outstretched hand. He led her into the space designated for dancing, and rearranged their hands to be more comfortable. He did his best to find some kind of rocking step to go with the song that was playing.

“Tell you the truth,” he said, “I can’t dance for shit. I’ma say sorry in advance.” 

“I can’t dance either,” Carol said. “Never really had a reason to, but…it’s not like we’re trying to win the world championship. It’s just for fun.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “And it’s kind of nice to have an excuse to hold onto you in public, and to have you holding onto me.” 

Daryl hummed.

“I won’t never let go,” he offered. He laughed to himself. “No damn matter how much that shit might piss Rob off.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Carol asked with a laugh.

“Like you ain’t known he was tryin’ to come on to you,” Daryl mused.

“He just wanted to use the table,” Carol said.

“And if you believe that, then I got to keep a double careful eye on you with all these hungry ass wolves prowlin’ around,” Daryl said.

“Wolves?” Carol asked, amused.

“After my best girl,” Daryl said. His face ached. He shook his head. “I don’t like it.” 

“You don’t?” Carol asked. She was teasing. It was clear on her face, but there was something else there. Daryl felt it tugging—pulling something inside him—like a magnet inside of her had linked up to a magnet inside of him.

“No,” he said sincerely. “I don’t. I don’t want—nobody tryin’ to swoop in when I’m not lookin’. Take you away.” 

“That’s not going to happen,” Carol said, more sincerely than she’d said the other words. “I’m not fickle, Daryl. Besides—what about…all these vixens?” 

“Vixens?” Daryl asked, amusement bubbling up in him again.

“I saw the woman at the bar,” Carol said.

“What woman?” Daryl asked.

“That you talked to,” Carol said. 

“I didn’t talk to no woman at the bar,” Daryl said.

“You did! I saw you!” Carol looked at him, incredulous but still slightly amused. Daryl laughed to himself and thought back.

“I mean—you talkin’ about just now? She was just waitin’, too. For her drink. Said somethin’ about—how much fun all this was. That’s all. It weren’t no kinda conversation.” 

“And Rob asked me if he could share the table. Told me he liked my dress because he’d been worried he might be overdressed,” Carol said. 

“He was flirting with you,” Daryl insisted.

“And she was flirting with you,” Carol countered. Daryl swayed her, out of step with the music, to distract her and she laughed at him and gripped him hard like she’d been scared for a second that she might lose her feet.

“I didn’t hardly even notice that woman was alive,” Daryl said. “Didn’t even remember her. Couldn’t pick her out now if I tried.” He leaned his forehead against Carol’s forehead, and smiled to himself at her satisfied hum. “Not a single damn person exists,” he offered. “But I didn’t like him after my best girl.” 

Carol dropped a hand from around his waist and brought it up to touch his face. He accepted the kiss she offered him, stilling their poor attempts at dancing long enough to fully enjoy the kiss. 

“I came with you,” Carol offered, the soft quality of her voice sending a shiver up Daryl’s spine that made her laugh quietly as she continued speaking. “And…like the song says? I won’t forget who’s taking me home, or in whose arms I’m gonna be.”


	54. Chapter 54

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I wrote another one earlier this morning, so if you haven’t read that one, please do before you read this one. If you like that one, please don’t forget to leave me some love on it! (That’s what keeps the drive going, after all.)

I hope you enjoy this chapter! Please don’t forget to let me know what you think! 

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Daryl had barely had the stomach to eat breakfast. Carol had worried that it was her pancakes or the sausage she’d prepared, and then she’d worried that she’d done something wrong in the bed the night before. Daryl had to promise her that it was only a case of an uneasy and unsettled stomach. He blamed it on the beer from the night before, though he was certain that Carol didn’t really buy it since beer hadn’t ever affected him negatively before.

He choked down lunch from a little beachside stand where they ate fried food and Carol protested how fattening it all was while she clearly enjoyed her corn dog and cheese fries, washed down with frozen lemonade that melted relatively quickly given the fact that it was a little chilly on the sand.

By the time they were eating dinner—seafood, again, because they both agreed they’d enjoyed it—Daryl was barely holding back the sensation of hyperventilation that might have convinced half the restaurant that he was just discovering an acute allergy to shellfish that would close up his windpipe.

Back at the house, Carol had fussed over him, mistaking his poorly-hidden anxiety for illness, and had told him that it was fine if he didn’t feel like going out to dance. She would be just as happy to stay there with him, take care of him a little, and watch a movie on the couch together.

Daryl had roused everything within him, and he’d sworn to her that he was fine—and she just had to believe him on that. She’d been concerned, but she’d done what he’d asked. She’d dressed in her blue dress with the white flowers—her favorite dress, she told him—and she’d given him a private peek of her dancing, laughing while she swished her hips and danced around him, showing him how her dress curled in one direction and then another around her legs.

She made him feel better. She always made him feel better.

And she told him he was handsome in the blue shirt he’d chosen just to compliment her dress, and she kissed his jaw, cheek, and lips in quick excited kisses before she threw her arms around his neck and squealed in pleasure because he lifted her off the floor and spun her around dramatically. 

Despite the pounding of his poor nervous heart, and the strange weight of the ring in his pocket that he was as acutely aware of as if it weighed a thousand pounds, Daryl felt excited because the part of him that remained calm in Carol’s presence—no matter how much it had to war against the nervous part of him—imagined that he would come home, that night, assured of the fact that this woman…this incredible, wonderful, beautiful woman…would someday be his wife.

When they got to the place, Daryl left Carol at a high-top table sipping her drink and excused himself to “take a piss.” She was pleased with her diet cherry coke and vodka, and she was swaying to the music while she waited on his return, admiring the movement of her own skirt in a place where she didn’t feel self-conscious making the skirt sway. Wolves circled her like a lamb left alone in the wilderness, but Daryl wasn’t concerned because Carol didn’t notice them and, even if she did speak to someone who addressed her directly, they weren’t the one who was carrying a ring as a request for the right to wake up beside her for every morning from now until forever.

Daryl slipped around, blending himself into the crowd in case she tried to search him out, and spoke to the D.J. The man seemed more than happy to help him with his request, and Daryl slipped him the information that he’d written down on a bar napkin with the bartender’s borrowed pen. Then, for good measure he took a piss and came back, apologetic for having taken so long and blaming his absence on an unusually long line and some non-functioning urinals.

Carol hadn’t minded Daryl’s tardiness, and it was clear that he’d given her just enough time for the vodka to make her a little lightheaded and giggly. She’d asked him if he was feeling OK, and he’d been able to be honest with her when he wrapped her in his arms and promised her that he couldn’t recall when he’d ever felt better.

On the dance floor, they danced their horrible attempts at fast and slow dances for what felt like hours. They could laugh at each other, both of them knowing that what really mattered wasn’t the dancing—it was the moment.

The moment was even more important that Carol realized. 

Daryl’s heart nearly stopped in his chest when the D.J. stopped the music a moment, as he sometimes did to make one announcement or another. This time, Daryl was certain that he knew what the announcement was—and he wasn’t wrong.

“Alright everyone…it’s time grab that special guy or gal. We’ve got a special request coming up from the King of Rock n’ Roll himself. This one goes out from Daryl to his best girl, Carol. I hope you enjoy.”

Carol was smiling at Daryl and the blood rushing past his ears as his heart pounded nearly drowned out the song as he wrapped his arms around her. She curled in close to him, their bodies so close that they could barely rock on their feet without stepping on each other.

He had worried over the song for days, but in the end, he thought it was just what he wanted to say—even if he was letting Elvis say it for him.

He closed his eyes and let himself focus, for just that moment, on nothing more than the feeling of her in his arms. For just a moment, they might as well have been alone.

“Wise men say, only fools rush in, but I can’t help falling in love with you…”

Daryl’s knees were practically shaking as the song ended. The D.J. did just what Daryl had asked—just what the $20 he’d slipped him had asked for, even though the man told him he’d do it for free. He cut the music to silence when the song had finished. 

Daryl could barely breathe and he begged himself not to do something stupid like pass out before he could make this happen. Shaky, he lowered himself down on a knee—thinking it looked much easier in the movies—and pulled the box out of his pocket.

The whole damn place was watching them—every single eye was on them—so Daryl made it a point to focus only on her. 

She covered her mouth, clearly surprised, and dragon tears dropped out of her eyes before he even spoke.

“I don’t have a speech,” Daryl said. He heard his own voice shaking. “I tried to figure one out, but…it didn’t work like I wanted. Not—not one of them book worthy ones. I got ideas, but I didn’t really write ‘em all down. That’s why I picked the song. I know—Ed spent a lot of damn years makin’ you think that we’re all shit. And I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to get involved in a marriage again. But—I’m innocent, Carol, of his sins. And if you let me? I’ll spend a lifetime showin’ you that…we ain’t the same. It’s fast. I know that. But—I’ve known since I met you that…you were the one I was supposed to build all those stories around.” She was still staring at him, hand over her mouth, and Daryl waved the box at her, his stomach clenching over the concern that she hadn’t taken it yet. She hadn’t said anything. She seemed simply frozen there. “What do you say?” He pressed. “You gonna…marry me?” 

Daryl was just beginning to wish that he hadn’t done this in front of everyone—even though everything he knew about proposals told him that he should do it in public—when Carol seemed to come out of whatever had held her frozen in place. She surprised him because, dropping her hand, she revealed a smile, and she reached for him like she intended to catch him under the arms and lift him to his feet. Ironically enough, he was thankful for her hands when he went to stand, facing her. 

She stared at the box in his hand, and he pushed it toward her.

“If you don’t like it—we can get a different one,” he said.

“What?” She asked.

“The ring,” Daryl said. “If it ain’t right—I can get you a better one.” 

“It’s perfect,” she said, furrowing her brow at him. 

Daryl’s stomach twisted. He glanced around. They were being watched. Some people watched them, even, from behind phone screens. The place had frozen like time had stopped. 

And Daryl wondered if Carol, in that moment, was even aware of it all.

“You—uh—you still ain’t said nothin’,” he offered gently and quietly. 

Carol’s eyes went saucer wide and immediately she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms entirely around his neck. She choked off his air, slightly, but he didn’t mind. He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up as he straightened his back.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed into his neck. “Of course, I’ll marry you, Daryl.”

He squeezed her, holding her like that for a moment.

Relief flooded his body and he went a little lightheaded.

“Holy shit—I’m glad to hear that!” Daryl declared. He rested Carol back on her feet and she pulled away from him. Her hands were shaking so badly that she somewhat violently flapped them, trying to will them to stop. “Hey—shhh—hey—it’s OK,” Daryl offered, catching her face. He took her hand in his, stilling the shaking because she needed it, honestly surprised at his ability to hold his own hands steady, and finally freed the ring from the box. He slipped it on her finger, and the next thing he knew, she was kissing him, hard. 

“I love you,” she promised him, the moment that the kiss broke. 

“Good damn thing,” he breathed out, feeling like he could breathe for the first time in a week. “Because I love you, woman.” 

When they received a round of applause from the people around them, Daryl remembered that they were surrounded and in public. Carol, it seemed, remembered everyone for the first time, too. She laughed and then looked around, taking in the faces that seemed, at the very least, amused to be witnesses to their moment.

Supporting Carol with an arm around her ribcage, just in case her knees felt as gelatinous as his did, Daryl escorted her back to a table. From out of nowhere, it seemed, seconds of the drinks they’d ordered earlier made their way through the crowd, and the D.J., who came over with the drinks, informed Daryl that they were on the house. Some couple from within the crowd approached them—there on their wedding anniversary, so they said—and offered to share the video that the woman had taken on their phone, so Daryl had gladly given her his phone number to accept the incoming video.

“You OK?” Daryl finally asked when things had calmed down and people had returned to dancing—and Carol was halfway through the vodka cherry coke that she was drinking.

She nodded at him, still smiling.

“I’m perfect,” she said.

“That ring OK?” Daryl asked.

She looked at her hand like she was surprised to see the ring there—like she hadn’t seen it yet. 

“It’s beautiful, Daryl,” she said. “It’s perfect. This is perfect. You’re perfect. Everything’s…perfect.” She looked at him, suddenly going a little owl-eyed. “Are you OK?” 

Daryl laughed to himself. Every bit of anxiety he had felt earlier had drained out of him. Honestly, he felt a level of exhaustion that he couldn’t begin to put into words and he’d begged water instead of beer because he was already feeling dizzy—though he was certain that it had nothing to do with the alcohol.

“Were you serious?” He asked. “You’re really gonna—marry me? Be my wife?” 

Carol smiled sincerely at him. She smoothed her fingers over his chest like she was pushing out some wrinkle there. She touched his cheek. She seemed to examine each inch of his face with her eyes. She slipped her fingers behind his neck and pulled his face to hers, and he tasted her drink when she kissed him. 

Then she smiled at him.

“You should know—I wasn’t a very good wife, Daryl.”

“You oughta know that—the only damn problem that happened there was you had a shitty damn husband,” Daryl responded. 

“Well that certainly wouldn’t be the case if you were my husband,” Carol said. 

Daryl squeezed her hand in his. His throat tightened. 

“You’re scarin’ me,” he offered. “Because—it sounds like you might be backin’ out, and…I don’t think I can handle it if you do that, so I’m beggin’ you not to do that, Carol.” 

“I want to let you change your mind—if you want,” Carol said. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“You couldn’t never disappoint me. And I won’t never change my mind,” he assured her. “I told you—I get stuck on shit. And I ain’t never been stuck on a thing like I’m stuck on you. Please say you ain’t changed your mind, OK? Please say—you still gonna marry me, OK? Just…” He heard his own voice crack. He thought he might choke. “Please just…say you will. I swear it. I won’t make you sorry.” 

Carol stole what little bit of breath he had with a kiss. He couldn’t help but relax under it. Her hands held tight to his face, and he thought he felt actual electricity surge though his body from every place she touched him.

“I don’t think you could ever make me sorry,” Carol breathed out. “And I’d marry you tonight, Daryl—right now—if I could.” 

Daryl laughed to himself, relief washing over him again.

“Want me to ask the D.J. to see if anybody happens to be ordained?” He asked. 

“You could,” Carol said with a smile. “You can’t call my bluff, Daryl, because I’m not bluffing.” 

“Courthouse is open on Sunday,” Daryl offered.

Carol smiled at him. 

“Then—maybe you better take me home,” she said. “Go to bed? If we start the day early enough tomorrow, we’ll still have most of the day and Monday morning for a honeymoon.” 

“You deserve more than that for a honeymoon,” Daryl said.

Carol smiled sincerely. It was a smile that made a warmth spread through every part of Daryl’s body just as surely as if he’d drank hot coffee on a cold day. 

“We’ll have the rest of our lives to make up for it,” she offered. 

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AN: Obviously I don’t own the rights to “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” 

I hope you enjoyed! Please don’t forget to let me know what you think! (Enough love might go a long way to inspire me to get one more out before bed, I’m just saying…LOL)


	55. Chapter 55

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

There were two earlier today, so if you haven’t read them, you’ll absolutely want to do that. Please don’t forget to leave me some love on those chapters! 

I hope you enjoy this one! Please don’t forget to let me know what you think! 

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“How much longer, Merle?” Andrea asked.

“Three hours, Sugar,” Merle said. “At least.” 

Three hours, and they’d already been driving for two and a half. It was six in the morning, but it hadn’t been too big of a damn deal to leave around three because Andrea had kept Merle up most of the night anyway. The Jeep behind them was keeping a pretty comparative speed to them, and only once had someone gotten between them.

Andrea let out a sound like a choked whine of pain and pressed her head against the window of the truck. 

“Smoke this,” Merle said. “It’ll settle your nerves.” 

“I don’t want it,” Andrea said, pushing away the cigarette pack he offered in her direction.

“Well I want your ass to have it,” he said. “Because I don’t got no damn booze an’ you need to simmer the fuck down.” 

Merle would’ve been telling a bald-faced lie if he said that he’d had no idea at all that his baby brother had been working up to a proposal. Nearly the only thing that Daryl thought about these days was that little woman. He ate, drank, and slept her. He’d been so wrapped up in her, and gone so much from the house, that he hadn’t even noticed that Andrea had practically moved right on in to Merle’s bedroom with him—going so far as to put some girly ass touches all over the house like candles and floral scented sprays in the bathrooms.

Merle hadn’t expected, though, to get the video of his brother taking a knee to ask the little woman to be his wife, followed directly after with the announcement that not only were they getting hitched, but they intended to do it first thing after breakfast.

Merle had still been digesting the whole thing when Andrea had practically crumbled to pieces. She’d dissolved into a snotty pile of tears and, other than the time when she’d actually worked herself into throwing up, she hadn’t really stopped being a soggy mess since then. She was just about to worry Merle to death, and he was starting to feel itchy over the fact that he didn’t know how to console her. He was driving, just as fast as he could, to get her there in time so that she didn’t have to miss the big event.

But, still, she was worried that his best efforts wouldn’t be enough, and she’d miss this huge moment in Carol’s life.

He decided, finally, that tough love might be the best approach—and one that he hadn’t tried yet.

She’d taken the cigarette and rolled down the window to smoke it, but Merle could still hear her sucking snot and almost hiccupping around her upset. 

“Get you some more of them napkins outta the glove box, Andrea, and dry that shit up,” Merle barked. “I mean it. Right the fuck now!” 

She jumped and looked at him like he’d kicked her. 

“I’m sorry if I’m bothering you,” she said.

“Well, you are,” Merle said. “Damn snifflin’ an’ shit—don’t do shit for shit. That’s all there is to it.” 

“My best friend is getting married without me, Merle,” Andrea lamented. 

“You been soggier in the past twelve hours than you been the whole damn time I known you,” Merle said. “I can’t put up with this shit forever.” 

“I’m so sorry to inconvenience you!” She yelled, her voice breaking even as she did. She tried to suck it back, but she had a sound similar to an engine that wouldn’t start when the tears were on the verge of turning into the hard cry they’d been before—the cry that had led her to gagging and, eventually, puking. 

“I’m dead ass serious,” Merle said. “I’m about three seconds from pullin’ over on the damned shoulder an’ lettin’ your friends pick your ass up. Let them deal with you all the fuckin’ way to the beach.” 

Merle thought she might stop crying, but she didn’t. Instead, the dam broke and she went right back to the hard cry—the genuine ass crying—that she’d done the night before. This was the cry that made Merle feel like a tiny little man with razor hands was shredding his insides, and he hated the sound of it. 

“Alright,” he said, softening his tone. He reached over and touched her shoulder. She recoiled away from him like she was trying to get as far into the corner of her side of the truck as was humanly possible. Merle didn’t let her go, though. He kept rubbing her back with the one hand he didn’t have to have to steer the truck. “I was fuckin’ with you, Andrea. I didn’t mean it. I’m not gonna—put your ass out beside the road.”

“I can’t stop,” she said around gasping sounds. Merle believed her. She’d worked herself into such a mess that she couldn’t stop—and the fact that she had to be every bit as exhausted as he felt probably wasn’t helping matters.

He laughed to himself, his own exhaustion pushing him to the opposite direction of things. 

“Just don’t fuckin’ puke again, Sweetheart,” he offered. “I can’t handle you barfin’ while we’re drivin’ down the damn road, and if I lose control, I’m liable to take your friend an’ her little woman with us.” 

“I told you I was sorry I threw up!” Andrea got out through her strained sobs.

Merle laughed to himself.

“I’m not pissed off at you for gettin’ sick. Just—take some damn deep breaths. They ain’t gonna get married ‘fore we get there. I told Daryl he better not dare to move his ass from where he’s at. I didn’t care what the hell he had to do to stall her.” 

Andrea stared at her phone—the phone with the tracker on it. The phone that told her where Carol was, as long as Carol didn’t leave her phone somewhere. It was something they’d activated some time ago while playing around with features on their phones, and it was something they’d never bothered to deactivate. It came in handy, because it got them a location to work toward before Daryl had answered Merle back with the address of the courthouse.

The truth was that Merle wanted to see his baby brother get married every bit as much as Andrea wanted to see Carol get married—he just wasn’t given to being quite as emotional as she was. Of course, Andrea wasn’t always quite as emotional as she was right now, either, so Merle did his best to forgive her for her sobbing.

“Did you tell him, specifically, that we’re coming?” Andrea asked.

“As fast as we can without gettin’ stopped,” Merle assured her. “I’m tellin’ you, Sugar, she ain’t gonna say ‘I do’ until you there. But—she ain’t gonna want you all puffy-eyed and red-faced neither. Messin’ up her damn weddin’ pictures and all.” Andrea was still sucking it back, but she calmed a little, listening to Merle’s words. “Why don’t’cha just—trust Merle to get’cha to the courthouse on time, Darlin’? Lean your ass over here, put’cha head on my shoulder, and get you a lil’ damn nap.” 

“What about you?” Andrea asked. Her voice shaking as she sucked in air to calm herself as best she could. “You’ll fall asleep.” 

Merle laughed to himself.

“Trust me. I ain’t gonna fall asleep. Now come on—just lean right over here, Sugar. Close them pretty ass eyes you got.”

It only took a bit more coaxing before Andrea did lean against him. Merle kept his arm around her since he didn’t really need it at the moment. He rubbed her shoulder and, before long, she drifted off under the promise that Merle would get her there to see her best friend get married to his baby brother.

Merle relaxed, with a sigh himself, when she was still and mostly quiet—snoring a little after all those tears. She was at peace, so he could be, too.

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Daryl hadn’t told Carol what was going on. He’d stalled a little around breakfast—dilly dallying with his pancakes and eating smaller bites than he normally would. He’d requested extras and his soon-to-be bride hadn’t complained about the inconvenience of mixing more batter and make him fresh ones to fill his stomach to maximum capacity. 

She hadn’t complained, either, when he’d begged syrupy tasting kisses from her or, after brushing his teeth and realizing they still needed to kill some time, had begged her to let him hide beneath the skirt of her favorite dress for just a little while and slowly, and thoroughly, enjoy a little dessert to go with his breakfast.

She’d suggested that, maybe, that was unlucky before the wedding, but he’d managed to beg, it seemed, in just the right way to get her to change her mind. 

Daryl liked eating her pussy more than he liked most activities, so it hadn’t been a disagreeable way to stall for a good while. The fact that she’d insisted on returning the favor had only been an unexpected bonus to the morning.

The place didn’t open until probably after nine, anyway, he’d reasoned to her, so there was no need to rush.

Finally, with an update from her friend Alice that they would be there soon—right at the address of the courthouse where he told them to be—Daryl had escorted Carol out to the truck, helped her into the cab, and locked up the house.

“You’re sure this is fine with you?” Carol worried.

“Perfect,” Daryl said. “You sure you don’t wanna wait?” 

“It’s fine with me. I just know how you feel about your movies and…this isn’t how it happens in most of them.” 

Daryl reached his hand over and caught hers. He squeezed it. 

“Real thing’s better,” he assured her. “Not a single damn one of them assholes were lucky enough to be marryin’ you.” 

“You’re sure you don’t mind that—I wore this dress last night?” Carol asked.

“You love that dress,” Daryl said. 

“Yeah, but…”

“You look pretty in that dress,” Daryl said. Carol smiled at him. “What the hell is more important, though, is that it’s clear you feel pretty in that dress. I might not be able to give you no picture like the one you got in your album—somethin’ to look back on and think how…fancy it all was. But I still want’cha to feel as pretty as I think you are.” 

Carol squeezed his hand. 

“I can’t wait to frame our wedding picture, Daryl,” Carol said. 

“Yeah?” He asked.

She smiled and nodded. 

“And hang it up,” she said. “In the living room. Maybe—if you wanted, I mean…we could even see about…not today, but sometime…some of those professional pictures. Like…engagement photos, but…when we’re already married.”

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“I’d take pictures with you every damn day,” he assured her. “And twice on Tuesdays.” 

He raised her hand and kissed it. His phone, clipped to the holder on his dash, directed them to the courthouse. It was clearly open, though it wasn’t doing a large amount of business this Sunday morning. He’d called ahead, while Carol had been brushing her teeth and dabbing gloss on her lips, to make sure that someone was on site to officiate. He’d been assured that it probably wouldn’t be a busy day for weddings.

He parked the truck, and he saw Carol’s face as she realized that the cars around them didn’t just look familiar. 

“Did you do this?” She asked. She barely let him nod before, a wide grin on her face, she threw open her door. He was glad to see that she was clearly pleased with the surprise when she slid out of her side of the truck and wrapped her arms around Andrea’s neck—the blonde practically falling backward with the force of the hug she did her best to return.

“You were going to get married without me!” Andrea cried.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Carol cried back. “It’s all really perfect, now!” 

Daryl smiled to himself, happy to see her so happy. For every burst of happiness that she showed him, he felt like his own heart pumped a little harder. Daryl was glad that he’d thought to let Merle know what was going on the night before. He was happier for her, honestly, than he even was that his brother was able to be at the last-minute wedding.

Merle slapped Daryl on the back, and then he hugged him.

“Proud of ya, boy,” was all he said, but it was enough. 

“Thought you could use a groomsman,” Alice said, stretching her back dramatically as she and her girlfriend walked over from the Jeep. “I brought an extra bridesmaid to keep things balanced.”

She accepted her hug from Carol even as she spoke to Daryl.

“Happy to have you,” Daryl said, sincerely. “Both of you. All of you. Hell—the more the merrier.”

“Jacqui is keeping things running in Living Springs,” Andrea said. “Oh—and Mich—you know Mich. She’s helping Jacqui, but…we’ll all be there for the wedding shower.” 

“There’s no wedding shower after a marriage,” Carol said. “And not on a second marriage.” 

Andrea was holding her face tenderly. 

“We weren’t there for the first one,” Andrea said, “so it doesn’t count.” 

“I like the sound of that,” Daryl offered. “Like the sound that a whole lot—the first one, the whole damn thing—it don’t count.” 

Carol laughed and practically dived into his arms. She was crying, but so was Andrea, so he assumed that it was just a common thing—tears and weddings.

“Well let’s get a fuckin’ move on and get to the one that does count,” Merle said. “Some of us ain’t had breakfast and could use a couple decent hours of sleep once we find a motel.” 

“You could stay with us,” Carol offered, clearly a knee-jerk reaction since there was hardly room for so many people to be comfortable in the tiny little beach house. 

Merle laughed at that.

“Wouldn’t fuckin’ dream of it, Sugar,” he said. “I like my privacy and, besides—Me an’ Andrea gonna need the space. And you gonna need it, too.” He winked at her and then reached an arm out and caught Daryl by the neck. He squeezed him affectionately. “Come on, brother. Let’s go get your ass hitched.” 

Daryl held onto Carol, but she came perfectly in step with him, her arm hooked around his waist.

“You ain’t gotta drag me,” he teased. “There ain’t a damn thing I want more today.”


	56. Chapter 56

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Carol had been concerned that Daryl would be upset that the wedding was not the kind of wedding depicted in the movies that he’d watched tirelessly. He’d accepted, though, that the wedding was a different kind of wedding, entirely, than the elaborate ones the movies showed with rows upon rows of guests, flowers heaped everywhere, and a cake that was three tiers high.

The wedding, and he knew this the moment that Carol agreed to marry him, and did so with some enthusiasm, didn’t mean thing at all.

This wedding would be nothing like the ones in the movies. But, unlike the ones in the movies where Daryl went to bed after the whole thing and slept alone, Daryl would leave this weeding with the one thing that he’d thought he’d never have—and something that made his stomach feel wobbly even to think about—a wife.

His wife.

If Daryl had even thought that the wedding would be anything worthy of some kind of romantic over-the-top movie, he would have been let down. 

The person who officiated the wedding couldn’t look more disenamored of his job if he’d actually tried. He looked so bored with his existence that his face seemed to practically be melting into a deep frown. He looked like an unhappy bloodhound, and it was clear that he couldn’t believe that Daryl and Carol had had the audacity to bring anything of a “wedding party” with them. 

The vows had been stock vows, and the man leading them had been so uninspired that it was difficult for Daryl to even remember the words that had been exchanged between them. Of course, much like the pomp and circumstance of the wedding, the vows hadn’t much mattered either.

The words didn’t matter. No matter the vows, Daryl meant exactly what he said: “I do.” 

I do promise to do every damn thing that I should, to the best of my abilities, to be what the hell she needs and wants me to be.

He hadn’t said that, really, but he’d meant it. And he’d felt the same thing—the same kind of promise—in Carol’s repetition of the two simple words.

The rings—which Daryl had intended to purchase in time for the wedding, if Carol said yes—were still at the store in Living Springs, waiting on him to pay the balance that he’d figured there was no rush in paying. Carol hadn’t minded the lack of a band, though, and he’d assured her that the first place they’d go—upon their return to Living Springs and during store hours, of course—was to the store to finish paying them off. 

Daryl wanted his wedding band more than he felt it was really manly to admit. 

The best part of the wedding, though, in Daryl’s mind, was the kiss. His stomach had flopped around like it had been full of butterflies bigger than birds as he heard the man speak the words—uninspired as they were—that told Daryl he could kiss his bride.

The kiss had sincerely taken his breath away, because it was the first one that they would share as husband and wife—but it certainly wasn’t the last. They shared at least half a dozen more kisses in the parking lot, where it seemed the real celebration took place.

There was no professional photographer, but Andrea snapped a few dozen pictures of them together, and they wrangled someone to take a couple of their whole group together.

They’d taken their wedding party from the courthouse to the coast, and their friends had played photographers as they snapped a few photos on the beach. Daryl, who really wasn’t one for taking pictures, didn’t mind it at all when the pictures were celebrating his union with Carol. He held Carol, this way and that, as Andrea and Sadie—both very involved in the photo-taking process—directed them. He kissed her, holding their kisses, while pictures were snapped. He even lifted her into the air, holding her up with his hands encircling her waist, and held her until Andrea assured them that she had some really “beautiful” pictures.

And then, to his brother’s pretended chagrin, Daryl insisted on everyone taking some other quick couples photos on the beach—and everyone had agreed.

Finally, they’d moved the wedding celebration to what they were jokingly calling the reception. It was a birthday brunch. Daryl and Carol had already eaten, but their wedding guests had driven through most of the night and hadn’t really had time to eat. Merle loved a pancake house, so he couldn’t resist the opportunity to eat at one while they were on the coast, especially since they so rarely came this way.

They ordered a big meal for everyone, and most of the meal had been consumed with nothing more than regular, amiable conversation.

After the meal, Daryl and Carol had offered to do something with everyone—some activity for entertainment—since they were both feeling a little guilty for the length of the drive and the fact that, now, everyone was probably going to have to incur the expense of finding a place to stay overnight.

But Sadie and Alice insisted that they had something else in mind—something they’d found that they both wanted to do desperately, and they were happy not to have to be the rude ones that dipped out on the rest of the group if they insisted on doing something together. Merle and Andrea, too, said they had something planned, though Daryl thought that the dark circles under both their eyes was a pretty good indication of what they’d both like to do for at least a while.

Merle pulled Daryl aside while Carol was saying goodbye to her friends and telling them how happy she was that they’d come—and that she hoped they weren’t too disappointed by the lack of flashy fanfare.

“You need anything? Money or…anything?” Merle asked, his hand holding tight to Daryl’s shoulder. 

Daryl laughed to himself. Merle hadn’t offered him money since his voice was still cracking every now and again. He appreciated it, though, for what the hell it was.

“No, brother,” Daryl said. “I’m good. You the one didn’t plan for this trip. You an’ Andrea gonna have enough?” 

“We’ll be fine,” Merle assured him. He lit a cigarette and Daryl joined him. Merle kept cutting his eyes toward Carol. “You done good,” he said, finally. “I don’t think—I thought you’d ever actually do it, but you done good, brother. She’s a pretty lil’ thing.” 

“She’s pretty,” Daryl agreed. “But she’s a whole helluva lot more’n pretty, Merle. She’s—everything.” 

Merle laughed to himself and nodded.

“You done gone and married her now,” Merle said. “And once you consummate the thing, it’s official. So, it’s better you think she’s everything than you don’t.” Daryl nodded at him. Merle seemed to be chewing on his words. “Just—wanted to say I’m proud of ya. That’s all.” 

Daryl nodded, humming his thanks to Merle. Merle squeezed his neck affectionately.

“You next?” Daryl asked, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

Merle looked in the direction of the women. He laughed to himself.

“I’m an old dog,” Merle offered.

“Contrary to what the hell they say,” Daryl said, “they can learn new tricks. And—I think you’d be hard pressed to do much better’n Andrea.”

Merle hummed.

“But she could do a helluva lot better’n me,” he mused.

“She don’t seem to be tryin’,” Daryl said.

Merle huffed and raised his eyebrows at Daryl. It was an expression that Daryl knew well. It was the moment that Merle kind of “cut off” anything that he didn’t want to discuss any further. 

“We’re gonna find a place. Maybe hang around a couple days. Ty already knows we’re here, so you can bet his ass is shiftin’ shit around. He won’t need us until Tuesday or Wednesday. Wouldn’t mind just—seein’ what the hell there is to see.” 

Daryl smiled at him. A little vacation with Andrea, even if it was impromptu, wouldn’t be bad for either one of them.

“Y’all have fun,” Daryl offered.

“You, too, brother,” Merle said. “Don’t you disappoint me, Daryl. It’s your damn weddin’ so that means—you got some kinda law decreed duty or some shit to take care of her. That shit means forever, but…it also means for tonight. I’ve heard that if the consummatin’ don’t stick, then the whole damn marriage can be null an’ void if you don’t take care of her.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

He knew that everything Merle had just said—with the exception, maybe, of the fact that Daryl had a duty to take care of Carol in every imaginable way—was a load of horse shit. The duty to take care of her, honestly, wasn’t even like some kind of legal duty or obligation. If it were, then assholes like Ed would have never been able to hurt women like he’d hurt Carol. The duty to which Merle was referring was more of a moral duty. Something they felt. 

And Daryl didn’t need any nudging to want to take care of his wife.

“You don’t gotta worry about me, Merle,” Daryl offered. “I been takin’ care of her.”

“I bet you have,” Merle said with a laugh.

“I’m serious,” Daryl said. 

Merle’s expression went serious, too, to reflect Daryl’s moment of insistence.

“I am, too,” Merle assured him. “Look—I’ve heard…enough. From Andrea. About—how she was skittish. Damn near feral just to…keep from bein’ caught again. She ain’t stopped smilin’ every damn time I seen her, though. Don’t look so damn skittish when she’s hangin’ on you.”

Daryl smiled to himself. His stomach tightened at his brother’s confirmation of Carol’s visible happiness.

“I love her,” Daryl said. 

“I know the hell you do,” Merle said. “And—I don’t presume to put words in her mouth, but it’s pretty damn obvious she’s pretty fuckin’ fond of you, or she wouldn’t have agreed to that courthouse wedding. Not unless she’s knocked up or somethin’.” 

Merle laughed at the thought—the possibility. It made Daryl’s stomach tighten and flip, though. They hadn’t told anyone their desires—what they dreamed about and talked about when they were alone. For now, and just for now, they were keeping that between the two of them.

Merle furrowed his brow at Daryl. Daryl realized he must have made an expression and did his best to return his face to the most neutral position that he could.

“She loves me, too,” Daryl said. “At least—that’s what she says, and I’m inclined to believe her.” 

“Me too,” Merle assured him. “Shit—Daryl—go get your woman. Take her back to whatever the hell you’re callin’ home for a couple more days, and claim her as your fuckin’ wife the way that nature intended. Stop standin’ your ass out here talkin’ my damn ears off…”

Daryl didn’t get offended at the sudden sharp turn of Merle’s tone of voice. He’d known his brother literally his whole life, and he knew that Merle sometimes thought that speaking to someone sharply was a way to get to them to do something he wanted them to do—usually something he believed to be for their own good—even if he didn’t feel the way the tone implied.

Merle didn’t want Daryl to risk feeling like he wasted another minute waiting to start his chapter of forever, and Daryl could appreciate that. 

“Drive careful back,” Daryl offered, leaving Merle and walking toward the women.

“You too, brother,” Merle called out, heading in the direction of his truck. “Andrea? We goin’ now, Sugar. Say bye bye. You’ll see her when we get home.” 

Andrea turned to look at him before hugging Carol once more. She didn’t wait to hug Daryl as he approached, but she did call out a congratulations to him as she followed after Merle, already changing gears to start asking him about something that apparently came from some earlier conversation they’d had and left hanging before the wedding.

Daryl reached Carol and gathered her into his arms quickly. She came willingly, laughing in her throat as his arms encircled her and playfully pinned hers to her sides. She grinned up at him, clearly trying to swallow back the smile, but finding herself unable to do so.

He took in everything about her—her beautiful blue eyes, the scar above her eyebrow, the freckles that dotted her face, her smile and the way it crooked slightly and her nostrils flared when she looked at him a certain way.

“You’re so damned perfect,” he marveled.

“I’m not perfect at all,” she said with a burst of laughter. “If either one of us is perfect…it’s you.” 

“Maybe we gotta agree to disagree,” Daryl said. 

“Our first marital spat?” Carol teased.

“We could do worse,” Daryl said with a laugh.

“Thank you,” Carol said.

“For what, woman?” 

“Everything,” Carol said. “But for—telling them to come. I’m glad they came.” 

“I’m glad they came, too,” Daryl said. “Was it—OK?” 

“Was it OK for you?” Carol asked, nodding her head gently. 

“We married?” Daryl asked.

“Yeah,” Carol said with a smile. “We are.”

“Then it was good for me,” Daryl assured. “Except—we ain’t fully married yet.” She furrowed her brow at him. “It ain’t official until it’s consummated. Can be dissolved up until then.” 

Carol cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Then we better go take care of that,” Carol said. “Before someone comes along and tries to steal you away from me.” 

Daryl couldn’t help but smile at her tone of voice. 

“It won’t never happen,” he said. “But—I wouldn’t be against spendin’ our afternoon makin’ sure the whole thing was sealed up as good as it can be.” 

Carol turned her face toward him and puckered her lips. He leaned and kissed her. The sweet toying of her tongue and lips with his was a pretty clear sign that she had no intention to fight him too much on how they might spend their afternoon.


	57. Chapter 57

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Carol moaned into Daryl’s mouth; her eyes closed to the kiss. Each one was hot and sweet and, somehow, a little better than the one that came before. He’d kissed her so many times between the truck and the door of the little beach house, that she could imagine it had taken them a half an hour to cover the small patch of ground, and anyone who could see them was likely scandalized that they would behave in such a way in public.

And Carol normally would never have dreamed of behaving in that way in public—but something in Daryl made it OK. 

And her hunger for his kisses made it OK.

And the fact that they were newly married, somehow, made it OK.

Carol leaned against the door jamb while Daryl tore his lips away from hers and his hands away from her body long enough to fumble in his pocket, find the keys, drop them twice, and manage to get the door unlocked, finally, with visibly shaky hands. She half expected him to grab her, drag her inside, and make the trip to the bedroom in record time—all of his “wait power” spent on the kisses leading up to the door.

He stopped, though, as soon as the door was open. He looked into the house, and his expression changed. There was an obvious touch of sadness to his features. The rush he’d clearly felt earlier was gone when he returned the keys to his pocket.

“What’s wrong?” Carol asked, the words practically catching in her throat and her chest. The slight hesitation of Daryl’s hands and the slightly downward pull of his facial features almost made Carol’s heart stop. She wanted him to be happy like he’d seemed a moment before and, honestly, it was heartbreaking to imagine that something had already taken his happiness away. “Did I—do something?” She ventured, dreading the possible response even as the question left her lips.

Daryl, whose eyes had focused for a second on some distant spot over Carol’s shoulder, brought his eyes back to her and furrowed his brow.

“What?” 

“You look—sad,” Carol said. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No…no…hell no…” Daryl said quickly. “It’s just…”

“What?” Carol asked when he stopped.

He shrugged his shoulders gently and ran his thumb over the corner of the door jamb. 

“Stupid, really,” he muttered.

Carol smiled to herself—in spite of herself, really—and she felt a rush of warmth in her chest. 

“Nothing that matters to you can be stupid to me,” she offered.

“But it is,” he assured her, making eye contact with her again. 

She didn’t try to hide her smile, then. She loved him too much, and his expression was too endearing for her to want to hide anything. 

“Then—it doesn’t matter if it’s stupid. I want to share your stupid.”

He laughed, then, and Carol was pleased that she’d been able to make him clearly feel at least a little bit better. Stupid or not by whatever standards of measurement he was using, it mattered to him, so it mattered to her.

“I was just thinkin’ I wished—this was our house. Or—not that this was our house, really, but that we were at our house right now.” 

Carol’s heart drummed at the mention of “our house.” Daryl had started staying with her frequently, and it was only natural to think that he would move in with her rather than the two of them moving into an extra bedroom in the trailer that he shared with Merle, but this was the first time that she was fully realizing that, when they returned to Living Springs, Daryl would be moving in. They were married. They would be beginning their lives together as a married couple. It was, at once, dizzying, but Carol found that she was looking forward to it with as much of her inner-self as was feeling anxious at the idea of something new and a little unknown. 

“We’ll be there soon,” Carol offered. “A little over a day.”

“I just—I don’t care about the wedding and the decorations and shit,” Daryl offered. “It don’t matter, you know. It’s just—stuff.” 

Carol nodded. She was absolutely going to let him say his peace. She wanted to hear what he had to say, and she wanted to fix it, however she could, if fixing it were possible. It was clear, too, that it was bothering him enough that it had to be said before he could move happily forward. He was standing firmly in the doorway, as well, and there was no passing inside until he wanted to move. 

“You said that,” Carol pressed gently. “Did you change your mind?” Daryl shook his head. He was chewing on it, that much was clear. He was trying to decide if he wanted to share his “stupid” thoughts. “You did—want to consummate the wedding. Is that what this is about? It’s not our house so…are you worried it doesn’t count or something?” 

Daryl looked at her like she’d splashed him with cold water.

“Not ‘til you just said that!” He said quickly. “That’s not true, is it?” 

Carol laughed to herself. 

“Legally? No. I mean—if it were, nobody would go on honeymoon trips, I suppose. But I don’t know about wedding and marriage lore that much. What’s wrong, then?” 

“The threshold,” Daryl said finally. He sighed. “I don’t know what the hell the whole actual ass meaning of the threshold thing is, Carol. But—I always liked to think it was like…we come outta the door as two people, but we’re goin’ back in as one. I mean—not really as one—but joined. By marriage, you know. But it’s symbolic. Me carryin’ you. It’s like—a symbol of bein’ one or whatever…when we go back inside. I like the idea of carryin’ my wife across the threshold of our house.”

Carol smiled at him.

“I don’t know what the actual meaning of the threshold thing is, Daryl,” Carol offered, “but—I think that your idea is beautiful.” 

“But it’s not our house.” 

“It is for a little longer,” Carol offered. “If you want. And—you can carry me in the house when we get home.”

“You don’t think it’s silly?” Daryl asked. 

Carol stepped forward and caught his face in her hands. She kissed him. This time it was her turn to share with him all the hunger that had been building up within her while they’d kissed their way from the truck to the door. After a second, he was responding by turning his body toward her and wrapping his arms around her. His hands were searching her out. She felt her body practically lighting up, as though some kind of switch was thrown. She could imagine that she could feel the buzz of electricity shooting through her body. She could feel it crackling at points—her fingertips where they touched him, her lips where they met his, every point of her body that ached for his touch.

“Everything that matters to you, matters to me,” Carol breathed out when the kiss was through. Daryl only responded by moving to lift her, and Carol did her best to help him get her off the ground and into the house. He put her down inside the door and closed the door, locking it behind them.

He shook his head. 

“It’s not our house,” he said. “Don’t feel like I wanted it to.”

“I promise, when we get back, you can carry me across the threshold.”

“Won’t be our wedding day.” 

“But it’ll be our first time in our home after we became one, right? And—then we’ll have consummated the marriage and…it’ll be fully official.” 

Daryl looked pleased with that. He nodded his head, his eyebrows raised to show he was impressed with her ability to outreason his concern.

“I like that,” he said. 

“Me too,” Carol confirmed.

Daryl kissed her again, pushing her against the wall. His body pressed against hers and the electricity that felt like it was pumped through her body by a cord pulsed again. She moaned her approval of the kiss and the connection, and Daryl laughed in his throat. 

“I wanna go somewhere,” he said. “Later.” 

“Where?” Carol asked.

“Don’t care. Anywhere. Wanna—do somethin’. Order somethin’. Don’t care what. Wanna say—my wife wants this or…can we get…I don’t know…somethin’ for my wife. Wanna say it out loud to someone.” 

Daryl tugged Carol toward the bedroom, and she followed after him, their fingers linked together. She wondered if he felt the same electricity she felt. She wondered if he could practically feel it tingling where their fingers knotted together.

He turned her, almost like they were dancing, inside the bedroom and his lips found the crook of her neck, and then the back of her neck, as she felt her zipper slipping slowly down. He was being delicate. He was taking his time. She smiled to herself. He could, but he wouldn’t dare to damage the dress that he knew she loved—and it was such a ridiculous thing, in some ways, but it made Carol’s eyes prickle with tears.

Not only could she trust that he wouldn’t hurt her—he would never purposefully damage her—he wouldn’t even damage something as arguably inconsequential as a dress just because she loved it.

She stepped out of the dress, holding to his shoulder as he bent down to move it when she stepped out of it. She stepped out of her shoes. While he unceremoniously took off his clothes—putting everything to the side in an orange chair that sat in the corner of the little room—Carol stripped off her undergarments.

He smiled at her, from across the small room.

“Incredible,” he said. She didn’t have to doubt, for even a moment, that he was telling the truth about his attraction. He was hard, and he stroked himself, seeming unable or unwilling to keep from touching himself when he saw her standing naked in front of him. The electricity surged, again, and Carol stepped her feet together. She could feel her own wetness on her thighs. Her body was no more interested in pretending disinterest than Daryl’s.

“Yeah?” She asked with a smile. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Daryl laughed in his throat, again, and closed the short distance between them. His fingers were warm on her skin, lighting up points with that familiar electricity everywhere he touched. Carol groaned in appreciation and desire when his fingers slipped between her legs to tease her and test, perhaps, where she stood in regard to everything. Daryl rubbed his fingertips together when he moved his hand and pushed Carol toward the bed.

“Look at’cha—damn near drippin’ for me already. Holy shit—I got me one hot wife,” he growled. 

“Mmmm—can I admit something?” Carol said, pulling back the blankets and getting comfortable on the bed. She only had to hold her arms out in Daryl’s direction and he came directly to her, snuggling in against her and kissing her neck.

“Anything,” he said. 

She closed her eyes, a moment, to the wonderful feeling of just being near him—of feeling his mouth and his hands searching her out. She shivered at his touch, and the shiver only served to make the electricity crackle a bit more as his lips closed over one of her nipples and his fingers slipped between her legs to start working her toward what she could already imagine would be several orgasms that Daryl would demand from her body before he was satisfied that this marriage was truly consummated.

“I’m going to miss being your best girl,” Carol said.

“What?” Daryl asked, his lips leaving their work of exploring her body like it wasn’t territory he’d crossed many times over by now. He furrowed his brow at her.

“With—you always calling me your wife from now on? It’s kind of silly, but…I’m going to miss being your best girl.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“I like your silly things,” he offered, maybe as a way of cementing the fact that they could share those things—maybe simply because he, too, liked the teasing name he’d adopted for her. “You always gonna be my best girl. My wife. My best girl.” He kissed her lips. He moved over her. He readjusted her body on the bed, and she let him have his way. She wanted what he wanted, after all. She opened her legs to him, helping him find a position that would be comfortable for them both. He raised his eyebrows in question at her as he pressed against her, begging entrance to her body. She smiled at him, nodded her head gently, and pressed her hands against the small of his back as an invitation.

“Come on,” she said softly when he seemed to need a bit more confirmation.

As he often did, he rocked his hips in such a way as to slide fully into her. At once, she was full. Muscles that were warmed up and prepared for him stretched to accept him as easily as they could, but still there was always a moment where her body responded to his invasion with surprise. Entirely out of her control, she locked around him for a second. The sensation wasn’t unpleasant, as it had been the first few times they’d been together. He expected it, and he seemed to appreciate it in his own way. 

He kept his hips still until her muscles relaxed their hold on him, and he busied himself with peppering her face with kisses, the sweetest ones seeming to touch feather-soft at the corners of her lips.

“Hey,” he breathed out. “You OK? I hurt you?” 

Carol felt him tense. He moved like he’d pull away—leave her body. He wouldn’t hurt her, not to please himself. She pressed her hands against his back, holding him there, and she shook her head. The warm tears that had prickled at her eyes earlier had finally escaped—not many, just one or two.

“No,” she assured him. “I just—love you.” 

He kissed her deeply, that time, and Carol teased him with her tongue, stroking it against his. In response, he rocked his hips gently in short, deep strokes. 

She laughed quietly into his mouth, into his kiss, and he looked at her with focused eyes and rested his forehead against hers a moment as he continued the slow, deep strokes that seemed to hold him almost hypnotized with his feelings. 

“What?” He gruffed.

“I love my husband,” Carol said. “More than anything…and that’s…so…incredible to say.”

The intense expression broke for just a second, and the corner of Daryl’s mouth turned upward as he shifted his body and, readjusting her body and taking a slightly new position over her, shifted his speed and angle of thrusting. Carol opened her mouth. It was the only response she seemed capable of giving to the new, harder and faster, thrusts that Daryl had chosen. She bit her lip. Daryl looked satisfied with himself, though his brow was furrowed with his exertions and his focus, as well, on his own sensations. He had the ability, somehow, to hit practically mythical spots within her body that made her toes curl—something she’d once believed was only part of the fairy tale of the books she liked to read.

“My best girl…” He offered; his words somewhat stilted by his exertions. With each word, though, he thrust harder into Carol and seemed to hit that spot—whatever it was and wherever it was—that made every muscle in her body tense with pleasure and the sweet promise of more pleasure; the kind of pleasure that could make her vision go dark and spotty for a moment. 

“Mmm hmmm,” she managed to get out, wanting to encourage him, but almost finding it impossible to speak.

“My wife,” he added, the same as he’d done before. Each word accentuated and accompanied by a physical moment that made it seem like he was literally trying to drive them home.

“Shit,” Carol spat, aware, somewhere in her mind, that her short-shorn nails must be digging into the skin of his back. She felt unable to stop, though, and her fingers curled almost as independently of her will as her toes did. 

There was no disguising the look of pleasure that curled Daryl’s lips upward. He was every bit as pleased by her reaction as he was by the sex itself, and he repaid Carol for giving him that pleasure by driving into her all the more, further spurred on by the guttural sounds that escaped her as attempts to praise him.

Even as Carol was coming back into herself from the moment—though it felt much longer than it really must have been—of being lost in the overwhelming sensations, and the semi-darkness of an orgasm that had left her unable to take in her outward surroundings—she felt Daryl reach his release. She felt the warmth of it. 

“My fuckin’ everything,” he growled out, panting from exertion as his whole body relaxed. He didn’t pull away from her. He wouldn’t. He would let himself fall free from her body naturally, leaving behind every possible bit of the warm, wet evidence of what they’d just done—his contribution to their hope, someday, to fulfill a few more dreams between them.

Carol sought him out as he found a place on the bed next to her to catch his breath, cool off, and rest. She curled into him, and he reached for her, clearly wanting the affection that she wanted to offer.

“I love you,” she promised him. “I love you…I love you…” she repeated. It seemed like the only thing she could say at the moment. 

“I love you, too,” he breathed out, his voice ragged with his uneven breathing.

Carol smiled to herself and kissed the corner of his mouth, not daring to suffocate him with a full-on kiss for the moment.

“I know,” she said. “That’s—the most incredible thing. I know.”


	58. Chapter 58

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Carol could barely keep from laughing at Daryl.

His happiness and enthusiasm were contagious and, honestly, he was just about the bubbliest that she’d ever seen him. He hadn’t stopped smiling since they’d left the house and there was a distinctive bounce to his step that wasn’t always there.

It made Carol feel good that she could bring him that much happiness by simply “being.” After somehow being able to make Ed furious by simply existing, making Daryl happy by doing the same thing was something so foreign to her—a concept so unbelievable—that it did cause her to start, every now and again, with worry that it wasn’t true or couldn’t last. She had to remind her inner voice that Daryl wasn’t Ed, and she could trust him. She had to trust him, because she didn’t have it in her heart to do otherwise.

Still, she was grateful because she also knew that, if she told him everything, he’d understand the voice, too, and he wouldn’t be angry with her that it sometimes came through and made her have moments of worry and uneasiness that the happiness around her could somehow begin to crumble.

Daryl had worries, too, and she accepted them. More than that, she loved him for sharing them with her.

She loved him, if she was being honest, for absolutely every aspect of himself that made him Daryl.

“My wife prefers a booth, if you got one,” Daryl had loudly and proudly announced when they’d chosen a restaurant for a late dinner and it was their turn to be seated. Carol didn’t mind where they sat at all, but Daryl wanted to say it. He needed to say it. And she needed to let him say it.

And when the waiter came to take their orders, Daryl had already taken hers, and he requested her beverage and her food for her, proudly smiling at the waiter like he anticipated some kind of response from the man when he realized they were married. Of course, he got nothing more than the customary acknowledgement of the order and the promise that they wouldn’t have to wait long for the food.

The dessert, at the end of the meal—a brownie and ice cream split between them—had been Daryl’s idea. It wasn’t wedding cake, he said, but it would do.

And Carol decided, without telling him, that one of the first things she’d do when they got home was bake them a small cake—a wedding cake—to surprise Daryl.

She was sure, after all, that Daryl would appreciate such a surprise. 

Daryl appreciated everything she did. He appreciated everything about her. It was another distinct difference from what she’d known before. That appreciation only made Carol that much more eager to provide, in any way she could, things that Daryl would find pleasing.

So, she would make sure that, though it wouldn’t be the full, traditional cake, Daryl would have the experience of having a wedding cake.

And even though they’d already consummated their marriage, and even though she hadn’t prepared for a wedding when she’d packed her bags in Living Springs, when they got back to the little beach house, Carol did her best to make sure that Daryl also had the full experience of a wedding night. 

On the drive the next day, Daryl held her hand for the long stretches of highway where it wasn’t really necessary to keep both hands on the wheel. Just for the fun of it, they stopped at a roadside stand—the old man’s goods advertised with misspelled words painted on wooden signs—and they bought boiled peanuts and some of the summer’s last produce.

It was dark when they made it back to Living Springs and parked in Carol’s driveway. Daryl insisted that she wait in the truck, and he took the key to let himself into the house. He turned on lights and checked, perhaps, to make sure that nobody had broken into the house in their absence. When he was satisfied it was clear, he came out to the truck.

“Can I come in?” Carol asked, leaning against the driver’s side door and smiling at him. He’d turned on the porch light, and the street light kept the yard pretty well illuminated.

Daryl smirked at her. She saw him reach his hands toward her, and she made it easy on him. She stepped forward so that, by the time he reached her, there was no effort involved in wrapping his arms around her. He pulled her into a hug and squeezed her gently. She smiled to herself and brushed her face against him.

“You didn’t think I was lettin’ you run into a dark ass house on your own,” he mused. “The hell would you have done if they was someone in there?” 

“I’ve been in dark houses before,” Carol said. “I would’ve done the same thing you’d have done. Hit them with something and made a run for a kitchen knife.” 

Daryl laughed to himself, but he didn’t let go of her. 

“Hell—your plan was better thought out than mine,” Daryl teased. “I was just gonna hit ‘em and hope I done enough damage to get time to call the cops and get out here to get my hands on the gun in the glovebox.” 

“So, you should have let me go in,” Carol insisted, tickling his sides. He jerked, surprised by the sensation, but didn’t let go of her. He did laugh, though.

“That was the only part of the plan I was sure about,” Daryl said. “They weren’t gettin’ you.” 

“What if I don’t want them to get you either?” Carol asked, pulling away enough to look at him.

“You in luck,” he said. “’Cause here I stand. Not gotten in the least.” 

“Can we unload?” 

“I think you know we got stuff to do, first.” 

Carol smiled and nodded. 

“However you want to do it,” she said. 

Without hesitation, Daryl lifted her, bridal style. She barked at him, surprised, and wrapped herself around him to help him out. He apparently thought it was funny, because he simply stood there laughing for a moment instead of actually carrying her into the house. 

“I thought you’d wait until we got to the door,” Carol offered.

“Why would I do that?” 

“Save your strength?” 

“Don’t worry,” Daryl assured her. “I got plenty to go around—especially for you.” 

At the door, he tipped her so that she could turn the knob and push the door open. He stopped, straightening up, and puckered his lips at her before he stepped inside. She accepted his kiss, and he somewhat held it—faltering only a little—as he turned sideways and stepped them into the house.

“We’re home,” Carol said when the kiss broke. 

“Mmm hmm,” Daryl said.

“Our home,” Carol added with a smile.

“Mmm hmmm,” Daryl confirmed, staring hard at her. She felt his fingers shift against her skin.

“We’re married and—we’re home…and I love you.” 

He smiled. He nodded, though, and chewed at his lip, and for the first time, Carol realized that he was, perhaps, feeling just a bit overwhelmed. His words, maybe, were choked off, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with it.

“You can put me down if you want,” she said softly.

Daryl stared at her a second longer, and then he lowered her to her feet. Immediately, she caught his face with her hands, and she kissed him. She held the kiss, turning it into one of the long, fun, and lingering kisses where they experimented with different ways of tasting each other’s mouths. By the time she allowed him his freedom, he seemed to have regained control over his vocal cords. 

Carol didn’t point out that she’d noticed that he’d lost that control for even a moment. Instead, she simply grabbed his hand and tugged him back toward the door so that they could bring their things inside and settle in for the night.

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Carol used one of the two ovens in the back to bake the cake. Instead of a wedding cake, she made a simple two-layer cake. When customers commented, just after breakfast, on the delicious smell of cake, she assured them that cupcakes would be coming out soon, and she used the second oven to bake cupcakes for the café. 

She decorated both the cake and the cupcakes with the special icing she made, and she presented the cupcakes as “wedding cupcakes” that she’d chosen to sell to commemorate her recent nuptials. 

She got a great deal of congratulations, and even a few hugs, from the customers who bought up the cupcakes, but Jacqui seemed most impressed by how fast the sweets moved. 

“That’s it. We’re baking cupcakes for every occasion,” Jacqui said, bringing Carol the empty tray to fill with the next batch that she was icing. “We’ll be putting them out with signs saying these are our special Tuesday cupcakes. These are moving faster than our apple turnovers do.” 

“I can bake cupcakes every day,” Carol agreed. “We’ll decorate them.” 

“Good idea. Charge twenty-five cents extra once you start putting more than just that white icing on there,” Jacqui said. 

“What’s the lunch crowd looking like?” Carol asked. “Any more food orders I need to work on?” 

“We’re slowing down for now,” Jacqui said. “Cookies, cupcakes, and coffee. That’s all that’s moving now. All that’s left out there are the people that don’t have to go back to work and the ones that are wondering how bad they really need that job.” 

Carol laughed to herself at Jacqui’s assessment of their current clientele. The café, really, had busy hours and then it had quite slow hours. As a result, they always took advantage of the slow hours to stockpile the things that they knew would go quickly when the waves of customers rolled in. 

After lunch, their next biggest bustle came around three when the schools would let out and the teenagers would flow in for coffee, hot chocolate, and sweets.

“You putting that cake out for later?” Jacqui asked, gesturing toward the cake that Carol was working on in between her other tasks.

“That’s my wedding cake!” Carol responded.

Jacqui raised her eyebrows at her.

“I don’t know how to break it to you, sweetie, but you got married two days ago. You don’t get to celebrate it for the rest of your life.” 

Carol laughed to herself. 

“I thought—maybe you could celebrate your marriage for the rest of your life,” she mused. “If it’s good enough to celebrate forever.”

“Your marriage, maybe. I mean—if you want to. But your wedding?” 

“There wasn’t a cake,” Carol said. “And—Daryl loves tradition so much. It’s really just a cake, Jacqui. But—he’s bringing our wedding rings home tonight and I thought…you know…he’d really appreciate a cake. You really have no idea how much tradition and things mean to him. And I want him to have it. I’m just decorating it to make it a little special for him.” She hummed to herself and returned to icing the cupcakes in front of her to arrange them on the tray for the students that would trickle in later. “After what I went through before, Jacqui, I want to celebrate my marriage every day. As ridiculous as you or anyone else might think that sounds. After Ed? If I could regret my marriage every day, why can’t I celebrate it?” 

“You really are head over heels for Daryl, aren’t you?” 

Carol smiled to herself.

“Did you doubt it when I agreed to marry him—overnight?” 

“I’m not going to lie. Michonne might have presented the concern that you felt pushed into it. That—you said yes because you didn’t want to upset him, but maybe you weren’t really that dedicated to marrying him right away.” 

“There’s one in every crowd,” Carol teased. “We’ve only been married—like you said—three days. Not even three whole days. But…” She stopped and shrugged. “I’d marry him again, every day.” 

Jacqui squeezed her shoulder. 

“I’m happy for you,” she said. “And maybe I’m breaking some kind of sacred secret telling you, but Andrea and I are already putting together a bridal shower.” 

“I don’t need a bridal shower,” Carol said.

“Nobody needs a bridal shower, Carol,” Jacqui said. “But if we’re going to celebrate your wedding every day for the next month, we’re going to have a bridal shower so we can buy you ridiculously inappropriate gifts and have an excuse to eat more than our diets allow. So, you might as well not argue with us, because you know you won’t win this one.” 

Carol smiled at her. 

“I’m not going to argue,” she said. “I’m just going to say—thank you.” 

Jacqui smiled at her. 

“You want me to pipe some roses on that cake for you? Spruce it up a bit while you get those cupcakes going and start another urn of coffee?” 

Carol smiled. She could pipe the roses herself. She and Jacqui had taken the same cake decorating course. In fact, so had Andrea and Michonne. It had been something that they’d all done together. 

Still, she thought she understood the meaning behind the offer—all of Jacqui’s meaning—and she appreciated it. 

“Thanks,” Carol said. “You always make the prettiest ones.” 

“Red or pink?” Jacqui asked. “Which one you think fits your man’s traditional tastes a bit more?” 

“Pink,” Carol said. 

“He’s got good taste,” Jacqui mused. She winked at Carol playfully. “But I knew that already. Put in another tray of chocolate chip cookies, if you don’t mind. We’re almost out of those, too.”


	59. Chapter 59

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Carol took her lunch break a little late, so as to not leave Jacqui with any kind of crowd and, honestly, with little more to keep her company than the old man who sometimes spent entire days sitting at a corner table, sipping coffee, reading a newspaper with mind-blowing slowness and, sometimes, playing games of solitaire with an old deck of cards.

Instead of eating lunch, she did a quick bit of shopping. She had a wonderful husband who loved tradition, and she decided that it wouldn’t hurt a thing to thoroughly spoil him just this once. After all, they would never be newly-weds again, and she didn’t want him to miss out any of the little pleasures that he might have enjoyed if things had actually happened traditionally between them.

After work, Carol was thrilled to get the text from Daryl that he was going to pick up the rings and, while he was out, he intended to pick up dinner, so she shouldn’t prepare anything. She rushed home, hid the cake, and practically ran to the shower to quickly rinse off the day. When she was done, she dressed in the white lace lingerie that she’d just purchased—a splurge, truthfully, but she was sure that Daryl would allow her to wear it often enough to feel that she got something of her money’s worth out of it. It was a two-piece set—practically nothing more than delicate and beautiful white lace underwear—but it had been the only white option that got her attention.

She slipped the garter up her leg, too. She didn’t really know the symbolism behind the garter, but she thought that Daryl would appreciate it, and that was really all that mattered. She quickly dressed in her A-line dress—the one that she hadn’t worn to their wedding—and dabbed on just enough lip-gloss that she felt a little more feminine than she sometimes felt without it.

She checked herself in the mirror, and she had to admit that she was surprised by what she saw staring back at her.

Carol Dixon looked different, somehow, than Carol Peletier had looked only a few days ago. 

Carol smiled, sincerely, at her own reflection in more time than she could possibly remember. It wasn’t that she was beautiful—she doubted she’d ever see herself quite that way. It wasn’t even that she was remarkably pretty. After all, she had the fatigue of the day hanging on her and she’d done very little to doctor her face up to look like the media told her pretty women should look.

She simply looked different. It struck her, suddenly. She looked happy.

And she felt happy. The happiness she felt made her stomach feel wonderfully jiggly like she was always anticipating something, but it was something good. She had run home to prepare for her husband’s arrival home—but not in the way she once had prepared for her husband’s arrival home from work. There was no need for last minute cleaning with the terror that he would judge that she hadn’t done enough during the day. There was no need to take food from the oven with shaky hands, hoping the meal was right. There was no need to scrutinize her appearance—sure that he’d call her ugly, but hoping he’d find no imaginary reason to believe that she hadn’t been alone all day.

No. 

Now, Carol was almost shaking, but it was with excitement and happy anticipation of Daryl’s arrival. It was with happiness over what she was sure was going to be a wonderful reaction to the precious little cake that had been prepared, and to the opportunity to take his wife—adorned as a blushing bride, even if she’d long ago lost her innocence—to bed. 

Carol would run around the house, but it wouldn’t be to try to prepare things so that she could avoid his punishment. It would, instead, be to prepare things so that she could make everything perfect for his arrival to the house—because she wanted things to be perfect, and because the look on his face would be worth any extra effort put into lighting a few candles.

Carol Dixon looked happy and, at the same time, she looked like she might cry—and felt like she might cry—over the simple realization that her happiness had somehow become as evident on her face as it felt in her heart.

Carol fanned her face, determined to hold back the tears, and quickly left the bathroom. She padded through the house, not having bothered with shoes, and she lit several candles. As a last-minute thought, she brought three of them to the table and arranged them in the middle so that there could be candle glow to accompany the meal that Daryl was bringing home.

And then—in an act that felt totally different than the way it had felt when Carol Peletier had done something similar in her old home—Carol Dixon stood by the window and peeked out, waiting to see her husband turn into the driveway.

When Daryl got home, he looked surprised but pleased by Carol’s enthusiasm. She met him at the door with a kiss on the cheek and he begged her forgiveness while he put down the food on the kitchen counter. Then, he returned to where she was and surprised her by lifting her off the ground and kissing her. He squeezed her a bit too hard, and it took her breath until he released her, but she didn’t scold him because she knew he didn’t mean to and he she’d rather have his enthusiasm, any day, than anything she’d known before or could even imagine. 

“What I get a king’s welcome for?” Daryl asked.

“Because you are a king,” Carol told him. His face ran pink, but he didn’t argue—possibly because he couldn’t find words to do so. The words he did find, though, said everything that Carol supposed he needed to say.

“Brought you dinner.” 

She smiled at him, nodded, and thanked him as she unpacked the food he’d picked up. In passing, she’d told him that she’d been craving barbecue. He’d remembered her craving, and her whole body ran warm with a feeling of overwhelm over something so simple. She served the food, inviting him to sit at the table, and they ate in silence for a while before Daryl finally asked her how her day was and opened the door for the simple, everyday exchange of the little events that filled the hours while they’d been apart. 

Before Carol cleared the dishes away, and just at the moment after Daryl mopped his hands and face clean with the damp cloth she brought him—both of them needing one after eating ribs with some enthusiasm—Daryl produced a box from his pocket.

He opened the velvet box and, nestled inside, side-by-side, there were two platinum bands of different sizes. 

“They’re beautiful,” Carol said. 

Daryl smiled at the box. 

“They’re pretty, ain’t they?” He wiggled the box at Carol. “Last chance to change your mind,” he teased.

Carol held her left hand out in his direction. He plucked the smallest ring from the velvet box and turned it around in his fingers, looking at it. 

“Last chance to change your mind,” Carol teased, her stomach tightening a little. “It—kind of looks like you might be considering it…”

Daryl looked at her with a furrowed brow.

“What? No. I was just—I was thinking. It feels like I ought to say something, but…we already said our vows and all.” 

“Say whatever you want,” Carol said. “If you want to say something, say it.” 

Daryl considered her and the ring for a moment. He nodded his head and cleared his throat. He took her left hand in his hand, and he worked her hand, for a moment.

“I don’t know what to say,” Daryl said. “But—I guess—same as I promised before. All of that. Even though, I admit, I don’t remember everything we said. Don’t matter. I still promise it. But—mostly I just want to say thank you.”

“Thank you?” Carol asked, her chest tightening.

“For bein’ you,” Daryl said. “For marryin’ me. Giving me a chance to show you that—I ain’t like him.” 

“You haven’t been anything like him,” Carol said.

“And I won’t be,” Daryl said. “I’ma prove it. A little every day. I guess this ring just—it asks you to give me the chance to do that, you know? Every day. Forever.” 

Daryl frowned. Carol had seen the frown before. It was an expression of overwhelm. She knew, if she looked hard enough, she’d probably see that his eyes glittered a little brighter in the candlelight than they normally did. She wouldn’t draw attention to the moisture, though. Instead, she simply smiled at him when, after slipping the ring on her finger, Daryl lifted her hand and kissed it. 

She reached for the box and pulled his ring free. She waved her fingers at him, and he handed her his hand. She rubbed her thumb over the rough skin of a man who used his hands regularly, injured them from time to time, and was not exactly the biggest fan of regularly moisturizing his skin. These hands were hard, and strong, and precious to Carol. She only realized how precious as she held his hand like this and, suddenly, it was her that was swallowing repeatedly to choke down the feelings bubbling up inside her.

“Thank you,” she said. “For—being you. And for marrying me. And for—coming into my life, Daryl, when I didn’t even realize how much I needed you. And—for showing me that you aren’t like him. That you’re everything I wouldn’t have even dared to dream existed. Thank you for giving me the chance to try again.”

“Try again?” 

“To be—a good wife,” Carol said. “To be—everything I wanted to be.” 

“You already are everything,” Daryl offered.

Carol smiled to herself.

“You know what I mean,” she said. 

“I do,” he assured her, nodding his head. She laughed quietly, to herself, and slipped the ring onto his finger. 

“I do, too,” she teased, lifting his hand and kissing it much the same way that he’d kissed hers. “I have a surprise for you.”

“For me?” 

“Mmm hmmm,” she hummed. 

“Why? What’d I do?” 

“You’re you,” Carol said. “And—that’s more than enough. I think—you might find there’s a few surprises for you this evening.” 

Daryl’s face went noticeably red in the candlelight. He looked thoroughly pleased just to imagine his surprises, though, and Carol felt a renewed jolt of excitement surge through her body. 

“Do me a favor and—clear the dishes?” Carol asked.

Daryl nodded and enthusiastically set about clearing the table and putting the food away. He rinsed the dishes and slipped them directly into the dishwasher. Carol excused herself into the laundry room where she’d hidden the cake, and she waited until she heard the water shut off and Daryl sit back at the table before she emerged with the cake. 

Upon seeing it, his eyes lit up like a child when their long-anticipated birthday cake arrives. Carol almost hated that she hadn’t broken tradition to put candles in the little cake.

“You baked a cake?” Daryl asked.

“It’s our wedding cake,” Carol said. “And Jacqui piped the roses to make it look extra special.” 

“It’s our weddin’ cake?” Daryl asked. Carol nodded. His expression was a bit strained, and her stomach twisted. She tried to tell herself, though, it was probably because of overwhelm and not disappointment. “You take—a picture of it?” 

“No,” Carol said. 

“You gotta take a picture of it,” Daryl said without explanation. Carol decided, really, that his request needed no explanation. She got her phone and quickly took a picture before she arranged, with him, another—the two of them holding hands, just over the cake, so that both of their rings were visible.

“Are those good?” She asked, offering her phone to Daryl for inspection. He looked at them, carefully, and then nodded.

“I want ‘em,” he said. “Send ‘em to me?” 

“Of course,” Carol assured him. “You want to cut it?” 

She went for plated and the server. Daryl happily cut the cake and served two pieces onto the plates she offered him. She moved her chair, sitting next to him instead of having the table between them. She wondered, honestly, why they didn’t eat like this more often, but she didn’t say anything. 

“Tradition says you have to feed me,” Carol said. “And I have to feed you.” 

“I’ve seen it on movies, but I never understood it. Why do we do it?” Daryl asked.

Carol shrugged. 

“I honestly don’t know,” she admitted. “Sometimes—people smash cake in each other’s faces, too.” 

Daryl picked up a chunk of the cake with his fingers, and Carol laughed to herself. She closed her eyes, preparing for the cake to coat her face. She was surprised, though, and she shivered, when she felt Daryl’s breath blow across her ear. 

“Open your mouth,” he said. 

The request shouldn’t have run through her body like it did, but Carol felt it everywhere. It was only cake, and they were only practicing a silly wedding tradition in their kitchen. Still, she’d felt it everywhere. She opened her mouth and, when he placed the cake on her tongue, she closed her lips around his fingers, sucking them as he slowly pulled them back until she’d held the last one a second longer than the others.

“Shit, woman, you gonna kill me one of these days,” Daryl said. “But damn if I don’t die happy.” 

Carol laughed and finally opened her eyes. 

“Your turn,” she said. Daryl nodded. He didn’t close his eyes. He did open his mouth, though, making it clear to Carol that he was not a fan of the part of the tradition where they smashed cake in each other’s faces. Carol stood as she took the cake in her hand and, unceremoniously, she invited herself into Daryl’s lap even as she placed the cake on his tongue. He sucked her fingers, and she lingered long enough to allow him to do so. As soon as her damp fingers were her own again, she brought her lips to his and they exchanged a cake flavored kiss as Daryl’s arms encircled her to hold her on his lap.

Carol held the kiss a long while, and Daryl didn’t fight her to break it. When she pulled away, her heart was beating hard in her chest and she wondered if her pupils looked as wide as Daryl’s. There was no need to blame it on the dimness of the candlelight—she could feel his enthusiasm from her chosen seat across his lap.

“I have other surprises for you,” Carol said, smiling at Daryl and smoothing his hair back.

“You’re runnin’ the distinct risk of spoilin’ me,” Daryl warned playfully. 

Carol smiled to herself.

“Why don’t you take me to the bedroom so I can make sure you’re good and spoiled?” 

He raised his eyebrows at her. 

“You wanna—put the cake up or…anything?” 

“Leave it,” Carol said. “We’ll need a snack to keep our strength up later.”

Daryl nodded.

“Tell you what,” he said. “Gimme—a chance to see if I can go to the bathroom and—get control of things enough to piss. And—you blow out the candles?” 

Carol laughed to herself and nodded.

“Good idea,” she said. “It’ll give me a little time to light some candles in the bedroom, too, and get things set up like I want them.”

“In that case,” Daryl said, squeezing her gently against him where she sat. “I’ll take my time to make sure you get everything up to your standards.” 

Carol kissed him one more time before she slid off his lap, and then she laughed at him as he put on a dramatic show, for her benefit, of managing his current erection, and playfully grumbling loudly about the suffering she put him through, on his trip toward the bathroom. 

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AN: I will go ahead and warn you that some chapters, like this one, will be somewhat self-indulgent. I want to enjoy these characters. I have waited a long time to write them as I really wanted them to be when I first imagined this story, and I want to enjoy them now. I know that some readers don’t enjoy these types of chapters. Trust me, I also know, by now, that many readers seem to stop reading and supporting stories once Caryl is together and things are somewhat domestic. Still, if I’m going to finish the story, which I intend to do, I want to finish it with all the little moments included that I want to enjoy between them.

I do hope that you enjoy them, too, but I apologize if you don’t.

Please do let me know what you thought of the chapter.


	60. Chapter 60

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl gave Carol all the time she needed to prepare for whatever surprise she had to offer him. He lingered, purposefully, in the bathroom for far longer than was necessary. 

The cake had been far more than he’d expected. Nobody had made him a cake in as long as he could remember—not for any reason. 

Carol had simply made him a cake, though, because she thought that he might like the tradition of sharing a wedding cake. She wasn’t wrong, of course, but he hadn’t expected it at all. 

His stomach, even now, twisted slightly as he tried to imagine what she might be planning—anything with Carol was wonderful. Anything with Carol in the bedroom was phenomenal. 

Daryl only wished, really, that he was as good at giving her things that she would love as she was at giving him things that he loved. She wanted so little, though, that it sometimes seemed too easy to make her happy. He almost felt like it should be more of a challenge. He’d always heard, after all, how challenging women could be. He’d always heard that pleasing women could be downright difficult. Carol wasn’t challenging or difficult, though. 

Still, some of her dreams were frustratingly left up to fate more than they were to Daryl’s simple desires to fulfill them, and he longed for more of a guarantee that he could, somehow, make those dreams come true. He could no more manipulate fate, though, than command the clouds to rain.

When Daryl was sure that he’d given her plenty of time, he finally eased the bathroom door open and peeked into the bedroom. The light was off, but his initial glance into the room told him that the small lamp was on, and there was a dancing flicker of candles reflecting off the walls. It wasn’t dark in the room, but it wasn’t too bright.

“Are you ever coming out?” Carol asked. 

He could hear amusement in her voice and it practically danced up every one of his vertebrae. He loved when she sounded so damned happy. She almost sang when she was like that and, whether or not he had anything to do with bringing on the mood, it made him feel like a million bucks just to hear it. 

Carol made him feel like a man—the best kind of man—when she made it clear that he did something right.

Daryl pushed the door open the rest of the way, already smiling simply in anticipation.

She was sitting on the bed, legs crossed and leaned back on her hands.

“Hot damn,” Daryl said.

Immediately she grinned and bobbed her foot.

“You think?” 

“Holy shit,” Daryl said. He laughed to himself. “But you OK? Your face—looks like it’s on fire.” 

She touched her fingertips to her red cheeks. She was blushing thoroughly.

“I started to get—embarrassed,” she admitted.

“Embarrassed?” 

“I didn’t know what—you’d think. And the longer I was waiting, the more time I had to…think, I guess.” 

Daryl laughed nervously to himself.

“How the hell could you wonder what I would think? You look…” He stopped, searching for a word that would be flattering. He wanted something that would make him sound like he had the extensive vocabulary that he knew he actually had—at least, he had it when there was a decent amount of blood arriving to his brain. “You’re fuckin’ incredible,” Daryl said finally. “And I can’t think to say nothin’ more’n that, but I mean…all the good things…take your damn pick ‘cause you’re all of ‘em and then some.” 

Carol smiled and uncrossed her legs. She crossed them again in the opposite direction. Daryl could practically feel that she was, for whatever reason, a little nervous or uncomfortable. His stomach twisted in response. He would do anything he could to make her feel better.

“It’s tradition that a woman’s supposed to be a virgin on her wedding night,” Carol said. “She’s—supposed to offer her virginity to her husband like a gift. It’s something that will belong only to him.” 

Daryl felt glued to his spot. He hummed at her and nodded.

“That’s why she wears white,” Carol said. “The symbol of purity. I gave my virginity away a long time ago. I was a virgin when I got married, though. Still…” She broke off and laughed somewhat nervously to herself. Daryl let her have the silence she needed, for a moment, to get her thoughts together. “I wish, Daryl—that this was more than symbolism and white lace lingerie for your amusement. I wish—I had something to give to you.” 

Daryl was able to step forward then. Something about her expression and the tugging sound in her voice yanked his feet free from the hold the floor had seemed to have on them.

He leaned over her, catching her face and pulling her toward him. She kissed him like she meant it. She kissed him like nothing had ever tasted better to her than his kisses. Just the way she kissed him made his whole body respond to her.

He laughed, breaking the kiss.

“What?” She asked.

“If I say it, right now? I’m probably a son of a bitch,” he admitted. “Because I got a pretty good feelin’ it just isn’t appropriate right now.”

Carol laughed sincerely and the sound of it made his heart beat faster. He’d done that. He’d made her laugh, and a moment before she’d looked like she wanted to do anything else.

“Then I really want you to say it right now,” Carol said. “Please.”

“Just kissin’ you makes me hard like I used to get back when I was fuckin’ sixteen,” Daryl admitted. “Like I could—probably bust up concrete with my dick or something. I can’t hardly stand what you do to me.” 

“Hard is hard,” Carol said.

“Spoken like someone that ain’t got a dick,” Daryl challenged. She smirked at him. “That’s what the hell you give to me. Among other things. Hell, I guess you don’t think that’s anything, though.” She was looing at him like she was trying to decide if she believed him. He accepted that she needed a little more stroking of the metaphorical type before she allowed him to get down to the literal business of it. “Carol—I’m not one of them men that really gives a shit about bustin’ cherries. To be honest? The whole damn thing? I’m not sure I’d like it.”

“Bullshit,” Carol said, laughing to herself. “I’m pretty sure that was—well—possibly the only thing about me that ever actually really excited Ed.” 

“See—I know you blow my damn mind because you can even talk about him…and I hate him more’n I think I’ve ever hated anybody in my life, and that’s actually sayin’ a whole fuckin’ lot…and still my dick’s hard ‘cause he knows we’re gonna get through this.” 

Carol laughed and her face ran a renewed shade of red.

“I’m sorry,” she said, ducking her face just enough to move her eyes away from him. He touched her face and brought it back to him. 

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t say sorry to me. You wanna know why I wouldn’t wanna—bust your cherry?” A raise of her eyebrows was sufficient to say she was at least interested in hearing what he might have to say. “I’ve never done it,” he admitted, “but I’ve heard it hurts. And I wouldn’t wanna hurt you. Don’t even like knowin’ I’ve hurt you before. So—I’d just as soon that weren’t somethin’ I had to do.” 

Carol stared at him, hard, and he held her eyes. 

Her eyes were beautiful. She was beautiful. And, for a moment, Daryl’s heart picked up its tempo at the thought that, somehow, he’d convinced this woman to be his wife.

“Don’t look sad,” he said quietly when her expression seemed to hover between a smile and a frown—changing quickly in one direction and then another—while she seemed to be working out how she felt. He kissed her lips gently to stop them from leaning toward a frown.

“I was just thinking—I wish I could start over with you,” Carol said. “Give you—everything. All those years. I think it would have been nice to have you be the one to teach me about…everything.” 

Daryl smiled to himself. He pressed his lips against hers again and she parted her mouth. Her tongue flicked across his lip and he accepted her kiss. 

As he pulled away, he put his hand on her knee, pushing it to uncross her legs. She smiled at him, the corners of her lips just barely turning up, and he slipped his hands between her knees and pushed them further apart. 

He kissed her thigh, near where the ring of white satin rested.

“What’s this?” He asked.

“It’s a garter,” Carol said. “Brides wear them. You—take it off.” 

“I remember seein’ that. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Carol said. “Maybe—like opening a present?”

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“I’da opened somethin’ else, to tell the truth,” Daryl said. “Like…your legs.” 

Carol snorted.

“It’s like—a ribbon, maybe,” Carol said. “You take it off. Then you get to open the present.” 

Daryl slipped his finger into the elastic band and slid it down her leg with relative ease. He swung it around on his fingertip, making it spin in a circle.

“And now I open the present however I want?” He teased.

“However you want,” Carol said. 

Daryl nodded. He straightened up and reached around Carol to try to see how the top of her outfit was fastened. He fumbled, not able to figure it out, and kissed her shoulder and the crook of her neck to buy himself a moment to linger there—not wanting to mention that he was getting an odd sort of cramp in his calf from his position.

Without him having to ask, she reached her hands back and assisted him. 

He backed away, as she let the top fall into her lap, and shucked his clothes. There was no need for ceremony there. He wasn’t interested in it. Honestly, he was already anxious to be with her and he didn’t really care for anything that was going to slow that down needlessly. 

He would tease her, and he would pleasure her as much as she needed. He didn’t need to be teased, though. Whereas she needed to be warmed up a little, he was on go from the moment Carol so much as hinted she might be interested.

They were made very differently—that much was true—but Daryl thought they worked pretty well together. 

When he came back to her, she reached her arms up and started to stand up. 

“Stay down,” Daryl said. “I’m comin’ to you.” She eased back down and Daryl joined her on the bed. She moved, crawling as he hovered over her, to land them both more securely on the bed. Daryl took her nipple into his mouth and pressed it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, sucking it as he did so. 

She pulled his hair, in response, with one hand and scratched his arm with the other as she grabbed for something. 

Her responses could nearly make him come without even having to go much further. He loved the way she acted—and sounded—when she felt something that she thought was good. 

She made him feel like the best lover in the whole damn world, even though Daryl was pretty sure that he was probably mediocre at best. Of course, he supposed that all things were relative, and as long as she thought he was the best, there wasn’t really anyone there to argue or to critique his clumsy attempts to love her.

He slipped his hand between her legs. Through the lace, he could feel the saturating wetness and the warmth of her. He rubbed her through the lace.

“I should’ve shaved everything,” she breathed into his ear. “I was scared I wouldn’t have time…”

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Honestly? I’d rather you didn’t shave it all.” 

“You lie,” she said, laughing to herself. The laugh caught in her throat when Daryl slipped his finger inside the leg of the lace panties to more intimately stroke the soft skin there, spreading the moisture in preparation for what they both knew would come soon. 

“Like to know I’m fuckin’ a woman,” Daryl said. “Not into little girls.” 

“It’s been a long time since I was a little girl,” Carol said.

“Like it that way,” Daryl said. “Woman. Mature woman. My woman. I told you—I got no interest in all that other weird ass bullshit that some people get into.” Sliding his fingers around, he found her clit and harassed it. She liked it best when he pressed hard. In fact, he thought it was too hard, but it was what she seemed to like, so he’d somewhat memorized the pressure that got the best response from her. She clamped her legs shut, like she was trying to trap the pleasure, as soon as he’d found just the right spot, and pressure, and rolled her clit just the way she liked. “Uh uh,” he said, leaning his head near her ear. He laughed to himself and swallowed it back. “My present. Open them legs for me now.” 

She moaned even as she did so and Daryl covered her mouth with his own, practically consuming the sound. He pulled away only long enough to slide the panties down and get rid of them—sure he’d request to see them again sometime. 

Lying back, Carol watched him and waited to see what he’d do—what he wanted.

He watched her as he teased her with his fingers. He liked to watch his fingers disappearing inside of her. He liked the way her brow furrowed, sometimes, when he touched her in a certain way. He watched her as he moved to tease her with his dick. He watched her face as he eased into her, and then he watched as he disappeared inside her and she swallowed up every inch of him. And, then, they were connected.

They’d been connected before, of course, and this was no different except that, for a brief moment, Daryl took the time to really appreciate the visual and the tactile moment of joining with Carol. 

“Are you OK?” Carol asked, breathing out the words and reminding Daryl that his mind was divided and the part of him not interested in studying the moment was screaming for his movement. Carol did the thing where she flexed her muscles—whether she knew she was doing it or not, Daryl could never tell—and she squeezed tight around him. 

“Never fuckin’ better,” Daryl assured her. He changed his position, though not enough to fully break the link between them. “You ready?” 

“I’m always ready to be with you,” she assured him. “Though—I do wish it could be…a real wedding night. The first time…”

“Knowin’ we got every time’s better’n havin’ had the first time,” Daryl assured her, slipping his hands under her hips and changing her angle enough to suit him. It didn’t take long before he was pretty sure that her reactions were fairly solid proof that she was in agreement with him.


	61. Chapter 61

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl smiled to himself as he plucked the bright pink piece of paper from his lunchbox.

“I love you. I can’t wait until you get home.” 

It was dotted with a few hearts, here and there, and Daryl looked at the little square of paper far longer than it really took to read something so simple.

A commercial had come on television. Daryl couldn’t recall what it had been advertising, but he’d been snuggled up with Carol on the couch, and the person had slipped a note into a lunchbox. It was a kid’s lunchbox, and it was the kid’s parent that had done it, but Daryl simply pointed out that he liked that idea. 

The very next day, he’d gotten a message, written on a napkin, in his lunch. And then Carol had bought these cubes of multi-colored paper on her way home from work. She’d been sticking one in his lunchbox every day since then, and he’d collected them. He had only a couple, for now, and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do with them, but he couldn’t stand the thought of throwing them away, so he tucked them into the glovebox of his truck after lunch.

Merle teased him when he saw Daryl fold the little note up and tuck it in his wallet.

“You keepin’ that?” Merle asked.

“The hell’s it matter to you?” Daryl asked.

Merle laughed to himself.

“You can just smooth your fur out there, lil’ brother. I ain’t gonna take your little love note or nothin’. You better enjoy it while it lasts.” Daryl rolled his eyes at his brother. The shit eating grin on his face was clear evidence that Merle had a hair up his ass and wanted a rise out of Daryl. Daryl returned his wallet to his pocket and turned to his lunch—a ham sandwich, cut on the diagonal, a peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwich for dessert, also cut on the diagonal, a bag of plain potato chips, and the drink he’d picked up at the store on the way over. It didn’t do any good for Daryl to offer to make Carol lunch—she would eat the café, and that’s just the way it was—but she’d asked him what kinds of things he’d like to have packed in a lunch bag on the days when she wasn’t able to slip away during lunch and bring him something.

He’d admitted to her that he appreciated having the packed lunches because he knew that she’d been thinking about him. He liked the idea of eating something, in the middle of his day, that she’d prepared for him with love. It felt like, with the little pieces of paper, that she put just a little extra love to-go in the bag. 

In return, she’d confessed that she really loved surprises—good surprises like she said the ones he gave her were—where it was just a reminder that he was thinking of her, and that he still loved her, when there seemed to be nothing else prompting the show or declaration. As a result, Daryl texted her at random intervals throughout the day and, when he happened to be near the café and could spare a moment, he’d run inside and offer a kiss as quickly as he could before darting out again. 

She liked surprises, she seemed to like his surprise displays of affection, and she certainly seemed to appreciate his efforts—no matter how clumsy they might be—at loving on her every chance he got. In the short time since they’d been married and Daryl had been allowed to spend almost all his not-working time with her, he’d found that he enjoyed turning her clit into his own little worry stone. While they sat on the couch reading or watching a movie, it wasn’t unusual for Daryl to slip his hands down into Carol’s pajama pants—something that had started with him teasing that he’d never been a fan of licking his fingers to moisten them for turning the pages, so he found this a great deal more satisfactory. When he woke before her, he would often slip his fingers between her legs and teased her gently until she woke entirely and came seeking more from him. He’d even dared, once, in the car, to slip his hand under her skirt while they’d been driving to the store to pick up a late-night box of popcorn to calm a craving.

She playfully teased him that she was going to go through more underwear in a year—from constantly having to change and wash her soaked panties—than she ever had in her life, but he didn’t imagine it was a real complaint. She never seemed genuinely pissed about any of it, and she had yet to ask him to take his hand back when he went seeking out his new toy to keep his fingers busy.

“Your lil’ woman cut your sandwich into triangles like that?” Axel asked from across the table. He was eating his way through four of the hot dogs from the nearby convenience store. They were actually pretty good, as far as hotdogs went, but Daryl silently agreed with Axel—it took at least a handful of them to begin to knock down the hunger cramps from half a day of work; especially if it was a day of real work.

“She did,” Daryl confirmed, biting a large bite off of his ham sandwich. 

“Why she cut ‘em like that?” Axel asked.

“Because it’s how the hell I like ‘em,” Daryl said. 

“That’s what his lil’ woman does,” Merle said, laughing to himself. “Whatever the hell Daryl likes.”

“You can make fun of me until you grow ass’s ears,” Daryl offered. “You ain’t gonna bother me, Merle. You right. She’s my wife and she does what the hell I like ‘cause she likes it, too. You want me to feel bad for that or somethin’? I do what the hell she likes, too. It’s called bein’ married, dumbass.” 

Merle hummed.

“It ain’t bein’ real married,” Merle said, his voice taking on the quality that it did when he was giving Daryl a hard time about something. “That’s bein’ honeymoon married. Right now, you just both playin’ games.” 

Daryl rolled his eyes at his brother.

They were playing games. They were playing lots of games. Since they both worked, they had to really pack as much as they could into their time together. So when Daryl mused, while reading one of Carol’s cowboy romance books, how much he liked westerns and how he’d always had the hots for the prostitutes—which was why he’d chosen one of the outfits for Carol that he’d picked—she’d promised him that, for fun one night, she’d surprise him with his own trip to a saloon, more than likely imagined right in their kitchen, where he could “buy” exactly what he wanted off the managing madam. 

The promise of the surprise—when he might least expect it—was as good as getting it, really. 

Carol had also promised him that, one of these nights, she’d meet him in the biker bitch selection he’d made, and he could pick her up at the biker bar—more than likely located right where the saloon might be any other night—and have his way with her. He’d already started working on his pick-up line, sure that it would involve inviting her to ride something besides his “bike.” 

He’d already created a game for her pleasure, and the game had gotten her motor running for wanting to play more. She’d shown him a scene out of one of her Scottish books that he found less problematic than some of the others. It was a scene where the man had chased down the woman and, much to her pleasure, Carol had assured him, had ravaged her—because that was the word that the author had liked enough to pepper it in every few words— when he’d finally caught her and, apparently, won the right to have his way with her on some rocky cliffside next to the ocean. Daryl hadn’t had an ocean handy, or a cliffside, but he’d spread a blanket down in the living room, gathered up every single pillow the house had to offer to make a comfortable rocky cliffside, donned his kilt, and he’d chased Carol around the house until he’d finally caught her and, tossing her over his shoulder, he’d carried her laughing into the living room.

It hadn’t gone exactly like her fantasy, perhaps, but rolling around among their half-destroyed faux cliffside, she’d assured him that it had been everything she’d wanted and more.

They played a lot, and though he might not want to tell his brother and colleagues about their play—for the teasing he’d be sure to endure—Daryl would rather admit their pastime to every person he encountered for the next twenty years of his life than do without it.

“You right, we playin’ games,” Daryl said, leaving it at that. “And lovin’ the hell out of it.” 

“He’s got a point, though,” Axel said. “That newlywed shine wears off and then you stuck with it.”

“Both of you know that,” Daryl said. “Given you both got damn gobs of experience.” 

“Everyone knows it,” Axel said with a shrug. “She’ll do all kinds of shit to get that ring. Then, though, it’s like the Sahara. Everything goes dry.”

“Dick don’t get wet for months at a time. Rains just once a year, if you’re lucky, for your birthday…if you don’t piss her off first,” Merle added.

Daryl could see that the two of them needed this. They needed to rib him and give him a hard time. Axel probably needed it because it had been so long since Axel had been in a relationship that he probably couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had a more meaningful conversation with a woman than the one required to order food somewhere. Merle needed it for an entirely different reason, and Daryl could practically smell it on him.

Merle was getting nervous. 

Merle was very much like an armadillo mixed with a hedgehog when he got overrun with any feeling he didn’t particularly know how to deal with or want to deal with. He would either roll up and cover himself in a protective armor of silence and defensiveness or, feeling like that wouldn’t work or be allowed, he would puff up and cover himself in thorny little spikes to cause enough irritation, at least, that the attention would be turned away from him. 

Daryl wouldn’t know—at least not until he got Merle off to himself, sometime, and got him relaxed enough to talk about it—exactly why he was nervous, but Daryl had his suspicions. 

Merle was either feeling like Andrea, upon seeing Carol married, was going to start pressuring him toward such a thing—which he didn’t want; or else he was starting to think he might actually want such a thing and that thought was making him nervous because it was something he’d long-since tried to convince himself he didn’t want or need. After all, if he could believe he didn’t want it, it wouldn’t hurt when he discovered that, for whatever reason, it wasn’t meant for him.

Daryl could forgive both Axel and Merle for their ribbing because it didn’t bother him in the least. 

“My dick’s worn the fuck out,” Daryl teased. “Asshole don’t even wanna wake up some mornings. He’s dead straight like ‘five more minutes’ when the alarm goes off.” 

Merle snorted, clearly amused. His ribbing was insincere and a defense mechanism. His eyes told Daryl that he was happy enough for him. 

“That’s ‘cause you ain’t hardly been married long enough for the ink to dry on the license,” Merle mused.

“Whatever,” Daryl said around the large bite of peanut butter and jelly sandwich he was eating. “Tell you what…I’ll keep you informed about the current situation. As for now? I just know that every asshole in Livin’ Springs oughta be jealous ‘cause I hit the fuckin’ jackpot.” 

While he munched on his chips, and half-assed listened to Merle and Axel share bullshit stories of people they supposedly knew, but had probably made up, who had married angels who turned into harpies at the strike of midnight on their fourteenth day of marriage—or some shit like that—Daryl texted Carol to ask her what she wanted for dinner. When she texted back to tell him that work was crazy, she was exhausted, and she hadn’t thought that far ahead, he’d happily texted her back to tell her that he loved her, hoped her day got better, and that she didn’t need to make plans because he had a special date planned for his best girl. All she needed to do, when she got home, was go and soak in the tub a bit—washing off the day.

Daryl was so preoccupied making plans for the night, that he forgot to tell Axel and Merle goodbye as he tossed his trash into the big trash can, lit a cigarette, and started around the side of the building for the front parking lot, mentally making a shopping list for when he clocked out for the evening.

Maybe there was a point where the magic wore off. Or maybe there were just people who expected too much from their spouses, who were also people. 

Either way, Daryl wasn’t too worried. With as good as it started, and how much better it seemed to get with every passing hour of their so-far short marriage, he had nothing but high hopes for the future.


	62. Chapter 62

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I did post one earlier, so please don’t miss that chapter before you read this one. Also, don’t forget to show me some love if you enjoy it! 

I hope you enjoy this chapter, too! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl came straight in the house, put the groceries away in the fridge and freezer to keep cold until he needed them, and stepped out back to start the charcoal in the grill so it would be good and ready for him when he was ready to put the burgers on to cook.

When he was satisfied that he had a moment before he needed to start patting out the meat for their at-home diner-inspired dinner, Daryl made his way to the master bathroom. The door was open, but cracked. He tapped at the door and waited for Carol’s invitation.

“Come in,” was offered, but there was something in the quality of her voice that immediately made Daryl’s gut clench uncomfortably. He made his way into the bathroom. Carol was lounging in the tub, but even soaking there she was visibly not relaxed.

Daryl felt sick just to sense the tension radiating off of her.

“You OK?” He asked, already knowing the answer. “Day that bad?” 

Her eyes were red, and he didn’t even pretend for half a second that he believed it was owing to soap or something of the like. She raised her hand out of the water and wiped her nose with it, dropping it back down under the water.

“Yeah,” Carol breathed out. “You could say that.” She scooped water out of the tub and splashed her face with it, washing away tears and snot. Daryl had the distinct feeling they’d be returning before long. She found her washcloth, squeezed it out, and wiped at her face. “How was your day?” She asked, clearly doing her best impression of a cheerful person. Even her impression came out a little shaky with the tears behind it.

Daryl’s stomach was massively uncomfortable with the whole thing. Seeing her like this—red faced and clearly upset—made him feel worse, he was pretty sure, than simply being that upset, himself, could ever make him feel.

“Don’t try to change the subject on me,” he said, stepping closer to the side of the tub. “I wanna know what’s wrong with you.” 

Carol laughed to herself. It was entirely insincere. Despite the drying bathwater on her face, Daryl could see the tears were renewing themselves. She sniffed and wiped at her face with her washcloth again. 

“Good day?” She asked.

Daryl felt some irritation tightening his back and shoulder muscles.

“Day was fine, Carol,” he said, some of his irritation coming through in his voice. He checked himself. The last thing he wanted to do was come across as angry, and harsh, and scare her when she was clearly not feeling quite her strongest at the moment. He purposefully softened his tone. “I just—wanna know what’s wrong, OK? Tell me what’s wrong.”

Carol nodded, sniffed again, and rinsed her rag and wrang it out before she wiped at her face again.

“What’d you—bring for dinner?” She asked.

Daryl sighed. He felt his muscles tighten, but then he did his best to remind himself that, sometimes, it was necessary to work up to talking about things. Sometimes it was hard to go straight at a thing. He’d talked about that with his psychiatrist a fair amount when he’d been working through some of the struggles he’d had growing up with Merle as, practically, his most nurturing Mama and Daddy figure. Sometimes, people had a hard time going straight at a thing, so they had to find their way there by going around the long way. 

Daryl decided that he could take the long way with Carol, if that’s what she needed.

“Got burgers to grill,” Daryl said. “Fries. I got—ice cream and some liquor to make spiked milkshakes. Which, if you ask me, it’s lookin’ like you might need one early and another one later.” 

Carol laughed to herself. 

“I might,” she admitted, nodding her head. “I really—really might.”

“I’ll make you one,” Daryl said. “You want it now? Or—you wanna tell me first what’s goin’ on and then we can enjoy a couple together?” 

Carol looked toward the bathroom counter and inclined her head. It didn’t take Daryl very long to figure out that she was gesturing him in that direction, so he turned and looked. The sink was plugged and, floating in it was cloth. He dipped his hand in the cold water, extracted the cloth, and could immediately tell they were panties. He examined them briefly and dropped them back in the water, not sure what was going on but deciding to return everything to the way he’d found it. He dried his hand on his pants leg and looked at Carol.

“We’re gonna have to chock this one up to me bein’ an ignorant ass man,” Daryl said. “And I’m gonna have to ask to buy a vowel or something.” 

“I’m soaking them to try to get the blood stain out,” Carol said.

“You could just buy some new ones, if it’s that you’re upset about,” Daryl offered. “That ain’t nothin’ but a thing, Carol.” 

Carol’s face screwed up like she might start to really cry, but she quickly got it under control. She nodded and wiped at her face again with the rag that she almost continuously dunked in the cooling bathwater and wrang out.

“I love you,” she said.

Daryl laughed to himself, his stomach catching nervously.

“I love you, too,” he assured her. “More’n anything in the whole damned world. But—I’m about as fuckin’ lost as I ever been before. If you tell me what’s wrong, I’ll do whatever the hell I can to fix it.” 

“I know you would,” Carol said, nodding her head. “I know you would; you would fix everything if you could. But—it’s not something you can fix. Daryl—I started my period today. I felt gross all day and when I got home…blood.” 

Daryl’s stomach dropped like it might actually fall out of him, somehow, and splatter on the bathroom floor between his feet like a water balloon. His chest ached, instantly. 

Some part of him, really, had prepared for this. Some other part of him—the endlessly optimistic part, perhaps—had not. 

Still, even the part of him that had prepared for this had not truly prepared. It had not really anticipated the horribly heavy feeling that he would feel. 

The problem, he assumed, was that he hadn’t prepared for this correctly. When he’d prepared for it, he’d only thought about he’d feel when he got this news. He’d only prepared to deal with his own feelings of disappointment and the knowledge that they would have to wait, at least another month, before they were adding to the list of things that were simply going almost magically according to their hopes and dreams.

Daryl had foolishly not prepared for how Carol might feel or react and, more than that, he hadn’t prepared for how he would feel as a witness to her devastation. 

He would have, frankly, preferred the impact of being hit by a bus to the feeling in his chest at the moment.

He gathered himself together. She would need that.

“No baby?” He said. “Just to make sure I’m—understandin’?” 

“No baby,” Carol confirmed. 

Daryl nodded his head.

“This month,” he said.

Carol frowned and shrugged her shoulders. 

“Probably never,” Carol said.

It hit him like a hard punch to the gut. He shook his head at her. 

“Don’t’cha start that,” he said. “Don’t you do it. It’s just a lil’ blood—hell it hardly looks like a stain. All it means is that there ain’t no baby this month, so don’t you go gettin’ negative.” 

“It’s always just a little blood while it’s starting, Daryl,” Carol offered. 

“I don’t know shit about it,” Daryl admitted. “But I’m tryin’ to learn. I still stand by what the hell I said. It means there ain’t no baby this month. That’s it. That’s all it means. Means—not this month. And I’m a hundred percent certain that bein’ positive is better for uppin’ our chances for next month than bein’ negative would be.” 

Carol laughed to herself, but it didn’t sound sincere.

“I don’t think positivity or negativity matters,” she said.

“It does, too,” Daryl said. “Would you want to make our baby in—in positivity or in negativity? Right out the gate?”

Carol laughed to herself, that same strangled laugh.

“There’s no baby,” she said. “Daryl—there probably won’t be a baby. Ever. Never. No baby. Not for us. I’m too old. I let us down. I’m not cut out for—this.” 

Daryl’s pulse picked up.

“I’m going to come right out and say it that I don’t like how you said that, Carol.” 

She shrugged her shoulders.

“It’s true, though, whether either of us likes it or not,” she said.

“You said there was a window, right? We probably missed the damn window, that’s all. I probably fucked it up when I didn’t realize there was one and I weren’t around. Next month we don’t miss the window.” 

“And when it doesn’t work next month, Daryl? And that excuse doesn’t work?” Carol asked.

“Then we deal with it, then,” Daryl said. “I ain’t googled this shit, but I’m going to now. I’m sure there’s people that’s had babies before, Carol, that had to wait on ‘em a lil’ bit to make or whatever. However it works. If it don’t happen this month, and it don’t happen next month, that don’t mean that it’s never gonna happen. But I do stand by what the hell I said. We gotta be positive about it. Because when it does happen, and I believe it’s gonna happen, I—me personally? I don’t want our baby all made up in negativity. Our baby deserves better than that. Our baby deserves positivity.” 

Carol stared hard at him. There was a deep frown etched onto her face, but she seemed to have stopped the tears, finally. They could return at any moment, though, and Daryl was starkly aware of that. 

He walked over, pulled the towel down from the towel hook, and came back to stand by the tub.

“Pull your plug,” he said, softening his tone. “Come on. Let’s get out. Your water’s gotta be cold and—I don’t want you gettin’ sick. We’ll get you somethin’ comfortable to wear and…get’cha a good ass spiked milkshake. And you can keep me company while I cook the burgers and fries.” 

Carol did pull the plug, and she did stand up in the tub, but it was evident from the way she moved that she must feel like she weighed a thousand pounds under the gravity of her emotions. Daryl helped her out of the tub, wrapped the towel around her, wrapping her like a burrito, and wrapped her in his arms. She snuggled her face against him, and he stayed still to hold her a moment.

“You know—I would understand if you regretted marrying me,” Carol said. 

Daryl squeezed her tighter against the feeling like a knife blade had torn through his heart. 

“I’m never gonna regret that,” he said. “No matter what.” 

“If you married—someone else? You could have everything,” Carol said. “Everything you wanted. Everything you dreamed of. The whole fantasy.” 

“You’re my whole fantasy,” Daryl offered. “Never been nobody else, Carol. Don’t want nobody else. So—whatever we get? We get it together.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, choking out the last of the words. Daryl pushed her burrito wrapped form away enough to tip her head up and look at her damp eyes. 

“Listen to me,” he said. “I don’t wanna hear sorry no more, OK? You understand me? I don’t wanna hear it. You ain’t got a damn thing to be sorry for. It’s fuckin’ biology. Nod if you can hear me or read my lips or somethin’.” 

She smiled, faintly, and it was the first one that Daryl felt was even partially sincere. She nodded. 

“Good,” he said, still holding her face. “Listen—I love you. All right? You my best girl. My woman. My wife. And I don’t want no other one, and I don’t like hearin’ you even suggest that shit, so I’m tellin’ you that’cha gotta cut it out right now or you gonna see me mad for…hell, I think it’s the first damn time. All right? I don’t wanna hear that shit no more. You hear me?” 

Carol nodded.

“I love you,” she said. 

“I love you, too,” Daryl said. 

“I’m—I know you don’t want me to say I’m sorry, but…I am. I wanted it, Daryl.” 

Daryl swallowed against his own feelings and nodded at her. 

“I know you did,” he said. “I did, too. It’s OK to be sad—as long as we’re bein’ sad together. Because I want you more. Still—we gonna be positive about it. I mean—hell—I told you, I ain’t googled that shit, but I’m pretty sure we ain’t the only damn people in the world that might have to wait a little bit, right?” 

Carol nodded and Daryl brushed her face with his thumb.

“It don’t mean nothin’,” he assured her. “But I’m glad I’m makin’ burgers. I know—last time you had your period, you said you got a cravin’ for red meat. You think you can eat a burger with me?” 

She smiled a little more sincerely. 

“I’d like to eat a burger with you,” she said.

“Good,” Daryl said. “Because I’ma load that shit up. Fix it right. And we’ll both have a milkshake or two. Fuck calories. You crampin’?” 

“Little bit,” Carol said, her cheeks running red. 

“Get you somethin’ to go with your shake and—I know you said there was one thing that turned out better for them cramps than even what you was taking. You feeling up to it, later, and hell…I’ll get you a couple damn orgasms to relax the cramps away.”

Carol laughed to herself. Her whole face ran red, but she slammed her burrito wrapped body against him and he hugged her.

“I don’t deserve you,” Carol offered. “But—I’m glad I have you.” 

“You have me,” Daryl assured her. “Long as you want me, you got me. Come on—you go pick out somethin’ comfortable to wear. I’ma go get started on the first round of milkshakes and them patties.”


	63. Chapter 63

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol sat at the back-corner table with her face to the door because it was the perfect seat for her to use when she wanted a little privacy, but also wanted to be able to see almost the whole café. Andrea sat to her left, and the entire table was spread with plates and saucers. Each of them held a sample sized serving or two of several new foods and desserts that Jacqui had wanted to try. Next to Andrea, there was a notebook where she was recording her thoughts and opinions for Jacqui.

It was the quiet time of day between lunch and the hour when the after-school crowd trickled in. At the moment, sitting near the front of the café, there were the normal customers that had nowhere to be and nothing to do for most of the day. Most of them were retirees, and they would spend their whole day playing games, telling stories, drinking coffee, and sharing snacks and small meals. They were great for the ambiance of the café, and they made it seem extra inviting to those who were visiting Living Springs, usually as some kind of “passing through” thing from a shopping trip in Atlanta, and they were truly low maintenance. Jacqui and Carol often trusted them enough to put one of the stainless-steel carafes of coffee out for them to reach easily and, sometimes, to set out a tray of cookies—knowing the older men and women wouldn’t cheat them nickels and dimes for refills and additional cookies. 

Andrea was Jacqui’s favorite “tester” for everything she made, and Jacqui was in a creative mood. Andrea was honest, so she wouldn’t allow them to try to sell anything that she really didn’t think would turn a profit. This made her praise better than any false praise that someone else might offer. In addition, she really loved food, so she often had good suggestions for improvements, sides, or other dressings for the food that tended to work out quite well. 

She also had pockets of time, throughout the day, when she had no customers, and she volunteered a lot of that time at the café. In exchange, she had a sign on her salon door that invited any walk-ins that might show up to come over to the café, ask for Andrea, and receive a free cup of coffee and a snack.

This brought new customers to the café, assured her business never suffered for her absences between scheduled customers, and meant that Carol and Jacqui never missed out on free waitressing, dish-washing, quality control, or simple company.

Her therapy sessions, too, were freely given.

“I don’t like this,” Andrea said, making a face at something she tried off of one of Jacqui’s saucers. She turned around, like she was looking for Jacqui, but she knew as well as Carol did that Jacqui was cooking. “This—number 7?” Andrea wrote the number down in her notebook. “This is—bad. This is lemon, but…not a nice subtle lemon flavor, you know? This is…I’d rather just suck the lemon.”

Carol laughed quietly to herself, thankful for even the momentary slip away from her own thoughts.

“What’s good?” She asked.

“This is the best,” Andrea said. “Three. This is like a—it’s a…apple, cinnamon cupcake muffin thing. That doesn’t do it any justice. It tastes like it’s straight from heaven. I want to be buried with these…I hope she has at least a few that I can take home. Here—taste this.” 

Andrea held the food out to Carol, clearly intending to feed her the last remaining little piece of the cake that Jacqui had cut off to present as a sample. Carol shook her head.

“I really don’t want to eat that,” Carol said. 

Andrea frowned at her. 

“I feel like I know Daryl well enough to confidently say that he’s not pressuring you about weight or calories…so?”

“I just don’t want to eat the cake,” Carol said. “Haven’t you ever not wanted to eat something?” She was sharper than she really wanted to be, and she saw it on Andrea’s face.

“No,” Andrea said simply, eating the bite of cake herself. “I haven’t ever not wanted to eat something. I always want to eat something, Carol. Now—do you want to tell me what’s got you so…gloomy? You’re really stomping on the good mood I was in.” 

Carol sighed. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Andrea offered. “Just—tell me what’s wrong. What’s up?”

“Don’t tell Merle,” Carol said.

Andrea laughed to herself. 

“Everything I tell Merle is on a need-to-know basis. It works better that way. He likes it. For instance, we’re going apple picking this weekend to the cutest little farm just inside of Tennessee. And then we’re spending the night and going to a little place that advertises they have a little pumpkin patch. And he doesn’t realize that’s a romantic weekend. He just thinks I have an obsession with fall fun and plants—so he’s planning a garden in the spring. And I don’t tell Merle any different. I just booked our little place for the night and I leave him happily not realizing that some people might consider that a serious getaway.” 

Carol smiled, welcoming the lightness that Andrea could bring to the table.

“It’s nothing like that,” Carol said. She touched her engagement ring, absentmindedly, and slid it back and forth on her finger.

“Something wrong in paradise?” Andrea asked.

“Not exactly.”

“What do I have to do to get the exactly part of this?” Andrea asked, tasting another of her samples.

Carol accepted that she’d sat down here to talk to Andrea about her feelings. She’d sat down here to get her friend’s perspective. She needed to tell her what was going on.

“It’s probably going to sound ridiculous…”

“I’m a hairdresser,” Andrea mused. “I practically have a Ph.D in listening to ridiculous things.”

Carol took a breath and launched into it like ripping a band-aid off. Andrea didn’t interrupt her. She ate with a look of mild interest, making notes by barely flicking her eyes away from Carol while she talked.

“I started my period yesterday,” Carol said. “It was light. You know—like the warning that it’s coming, but it’s not all the way started. Today should have been my heaviest day. It always is. But, instead, it was still light this morning. Like—light, light. Like I somehow skipped the whole middle of it and now and it’s just sort of tapering off.” 

“You’re on your period?” Andrea asked.

Carol made a face.

“Were you listening?” 

“I was! I mean—I heard you. But, I’m not on my period yet. It’s not time. I don’t think it’s time.”

“I know blood when I see it,” Carol said. 

Andrea lowered her voice and leaned toward Carol.

“You sure it wasn’t from—you know—something getting a little too out of control? What? Don’t make that face at me. It happens sometimes.” 

“It started at work,” Carol said. 

“I’m not on mine,” Andrea repeated. “We’re usually like perfectly in sync.” She shrugged her shoulders. “It’s probably stress, Carol. I mean the whole—getting married in a hurry thing. There’s good stress, but it’s still stress.” 

Carol put her hands on the table and leaned toward Andrea.

“It’s menopause,” she hissed. She sat back in her chair. Saying what she was thinking, out loud, suddenly gave it some reality. It gave it some weight. And that weight was heavy.

Andrea looked unbothered. Instead, she looked at Carol absolutely calmly. She was clearly waiting for more information.

“Did you hear me?” Carol asked.

“I heard you,” Andrea said. “I just—don’t know what to say. I mean—you haven’t presented me with any proof that it’s menopause and, I mean…what if it is?” 

Carol frowned at her.

“It means—I’m out of eggs,” Carol said. “Or almost out. And I can’t go pick up another dozen or two at the store.” 

“My eggs are probably pickled by now,” Andrea said, dragging her finger across one saucer and sucking off the leftovers of something that had spilled there. “But—I need to really understand why you’re upset, Carol, because you’re clearly upset. That’s the only way I know which way this conversation needs to go.” 

“Daryl wants the whole thing,” Carol said. “The whole perfect life fantasy. Home, marriage, family…love. All of it. Everything warm and wonderful…and…”

“But that’s a fantasy,” Andrea said. “I mean everything can’t be perfect all the time. Or beautiful all the time. No matter how much I fix myself up at night to…to suit some fantasy that Merle has, he also has to accept the reality of the morning—when my hair doesn’t look good, and my breath smells like morning breath, and I’m a little less like the goddess he pretended I was the night before, while he’s making pancakes in a ratty ass bathrobe.” She shrugged her shoulders. “The fantasy is fun for all of us, but it’s the reality that we have to love the most.” 

Carol’s throat felt hot, dry, and tight. She rubbed her face, somewhat out of needing to spend nervous energy, and she smiled to herself as she shifted her diamond back and forth on her finger. 

“Do you love Merle?” Carol asked.

“What?” Andrea asked.

“I think—you just said you love Merle. Do you?” 

Andrea’s cheeks ran red, and she smiled to herself. She was clearly doing her best to swallow it back. 

“I think—maybe I do,” Andrea admitted, never really being one who felt the need to be too secretive with her feelings. “But I don’t think Merle loves me. So—I wouldn’t tell him. Don’t tell Daryl.” 

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Carol said. 

“We weren’t talking about me, though. We were talking about—Daryl’s fantasy.” 

“That’s not fair to say it that way,” Carol said. “Really—I didn’t mean to say he’s alone. I mean, I’m the same. I have so much that I want. That I’ve always wanted. And he gives me all of that. It’s almost—even thinking about it now? It makes my stomach…uneasy. Just to think that one man could offer me so much…everything. It still doesn’t seem real.” 

Andrea laughed to herself.

“I hope you won’t take this the wrong way,” Andrea said, “but as long as I’ve known you? Your dreams have been, well…relatively low-key. What exactly do you want from Daryl that it seems so impossible to believe that one man could give you? What do you get from him that’s so incredible that you’re worrying yourself over whether it’s real?” 

“Love,” Carol said. “Acceptance—and I mean for…Andrea…he’s not bothered by anything. He has none of those hang-ups about…you know…body…things.” 

Carol laughed to herself.

“Then he got that from his brother,” Andrea said. “Nothing bothers Merle. He’s very practical. Humans have bodies. Bodies do certain things, produce certain things…you know? And there’s no need to be bothered by what the hell is nature.”

“Have you ever known a man like that before?” 

“To be fair, I don’t think my track record of men should be one by which we judge the entire male population of the species,” Andrea said.

“That’s not the point anyway,” Carol said. “I mean, it is the point, but it’s not. My point is that Daryl is—incredible. And I want him to have everything he’s ever dreamed of, you know? I feel like—he deserves that. I want to give that to him.” 

“From what I can see, he seems pretty happy. Merle says he’s nearly over-the-moon all the time.” 

“He wants a baby,” Carol blurted out. “No—that’s not fair. I didn’t mean it the way it came out. We want a baby. I want a baby. He wants a baby. We want one. And—it seems so perfect. The timing seems perfect. He’s happy in his job. I’m happy in mine. We have room and…we’re happy. And it’s the perfect time and the perfect environment for a baby.” Andrea was looking at her expectantly. “And now I’m starting menopause and I don’t have any eggs left…and there won’t ever be a baby.” 

“Jesus,” Andrea said, frowning. “That whole perspective kind of took away my appetite.” 

“Now you know how I feel,” Carol said. “The worst part of it is…” 

She broke off long enough for Andrea to look at her, her whole face showing discomfort.

“There’s more and it gets worse?” Andrea asked. 

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

“Daryl could have everything,” she said. “A man like Daryl is going to find a happy home with almost any woman. Any woman would be lucky to have a man who…who treats her like he does. He could still have a baby, and I’m just wondering if…if I’m holding him back, you know?”

“If I’d worked myself into the lather you seem to be in,” Andrea said, “I might’ve stepped in front of a school bus or something this morning. Carol—Daryl loves you. There’s no doubt about that in my mind. And I don’t think he sees you as just some disposable baby factory.” 

“I didn’t mean that,” Carol said.

“No, but if you suggest that he’d just trade you for a younger staffed baby factory, you’re not giving him tons of credit,” Andrea said. “Have you talked to him?” 

“Yes.”

“And?” 

“He says…he wants a baby if we have a baby,” Carol said. “But—he wants me more.”

“There you have it,” Andrea said. 

Carol could feel her face drawing down as it seemed to be pulled by the feelings churning in her gut.

“It’s not fair. All this time and—why’d I have to start menopause now?” 

“How do you know it’s menopause?” Andrea asked. “Maybe it’s just a really light period. Maybe it’s just—some stress issue or…something. My flower usually behaves like clockwork as long as I treat her right. And I always take care of her. You know I’m serious about her needs. And even she has her fits sometimes. I’m telling you; I don’t think it’s time for your period. I think you’ve got some stress thing going on and you just need to relax and pamper yourself a little.”

“You’re younger than me,” Carol said. “It’s probably not the same for you. I haven’t told Daryl about the menopause or…that it means that this probably really isn’t going to happen.” 

“Just—before you make any decisions or anything? Make them with Daryl, OK? He loves you. It’s obvious. And he wants to make decisions with you. Besides—even if it’s menopause, it maybe doesn’t just end everything at once, right? Maybe it’s like a warning. A yellow light. All you need is one more egg, right? Maybe it’s in there.” 

Carol laughed to herself. She reached her hand over and patted Andrea’s arm.

“Are you—eternally optimistic?” She asked, teasing.

“Not at all,” Andrea said. “Not really. Not when it comes to my own experience, but…I don’t know, somebody’s gotta be.” She shrugged and her expression went serious and sincere. “You’re my best friend. And I love you. And as much as you want Daryl to have everything, I want you to have everything. But—I don’t want you to miss it just because you’re afraid it isn’t real or you don’t deserve it.” 

Carol felt better, simply hearing Andrea’s words. She nodded her head.

“What about—what you want? What you deserve?” 

Andrea smiled to herself.

“I’m going apple picking this weekend,” Andrea said. “And—Merle wouldn’t admit it, but he’s excited about carving jack-o-lanterns. I’m not doing too bad, all things considered.”

“You deserve better than not too bad,” Carol offered. “You know that, right?” 

“Baby steps,” Andrea offered. “I hope Jacqui has some more of those apple cinnamon things.” 

Carol laughed to herself.

“Tell you what—I’ll go see.”


	64. Chapter 64

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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Carol met Daryl at the door, when he got home, asking him to take her to bed. As though he might even consider refusing her, she’d added that she really “needed” him and, honestly, there was something in her expression and tone of voice that had tugged him toward her even more than he would normally be pulled in her direction. He’d had no intention of turning her down, but the hint of longing in her tone had guaranteed that he’d happily taken her straight to bed. He’d cleaned himself up in the bathroom, freshening up from work, and brought one of the towels they’d designated fine for suffering stains, and he’d met her—waiting on him.

They had made love and then showered together, washing each other carefully for the excuse to touch each other that such a thing provided. Now, both of them pretty well relaxed and tired out, they were on the couch with the television playing a movie that neither of them was paying attention to in the least. 

Daryl loved when Carol came to him like she was now—facing him, wrapped around him, curled into him in practically a little ball of herself. She fit so perfectly against him that, when he wrapped his arms around her in these moments, he could easily convince himself that they were absolutely designed to be together—made to fit one another perfectly like pieces of a puzzle.

When she wrapped herself around him, like this, he felt what he was pretty sure was absolute peace. 

The odds that they wouldn’t bother with dinner were good as the time slipped past, but even hunger wasn’t enough to drive Daryl to suggest that she let him up from this spot or that they stop the snuggling she seemed to need and which he so adored.

Daryl couldn’t stop his stomach from growling, though, and when it let out a particularly noisy complaint, Carol sat up. He grabbed at her, pulling her back toward him, to stop her from running away from him. She didn’t leave him entirely, but she sat across his legs, no longer leaning in against his chest. She looked like she might have been sleeping, at least a little.

“I didn’t make you dinner,” Carol said.

“I could make dinner if it’s that serious,” Daryl offered with a laugh. 

“You didn’t tell me you were hungry,” Carol said.

Daryl touched her face. She looked tired and sad, and he assumed her period must be kicking her ass in ways that, as a man, he really had no reference for. 

“I had more important things on my mind,” he said. “Like holdin’ my wife. Now—come on back down here.”

“You have to eat, Daryl,” Carol said. “And we have to talk.”

“In that order?” Daryl asked.

There was no need arguing with her about what he’d rather do. She was already sliding off his lap and, as soon as her feet were on the floor, she was on her way to the kitchen.

Daryl sighed to himself. He’d honestly rather have spent the whole night curled up exactly as they were, but he could see she was set on feeding him, so he followed after her. 

“What do you want to eat?” She asked.

“Carol—I don’t care,” he admitted. “I’m just as happy eatin’ peanut butter or something.” 

“You sure?” She asked.

“I’m positive. Nobody makes a peanut butter’n jelly sandwich good as you do.” She smiled to herself. “I can make it, if you want.” 

She shook her head and started making it. Daryl watched her. He liked watching her at times like this, when she didn’t realize he was watching. She’d gotten dressed in pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt. Her hair was somewhat matted on one side from leaning against him while it dried from their after-sex shower. Maybe nobody else would have agreed, but Daryl found her irresistible and looking at her from behind like this, all he wanted was to be holding her again.

He walked up behind her, wrapped her in his arms, and hugged her tight.

She laughed to herself and turned her head enough to kiss him on the jaw.

“I can’t make a sandwich like this,” she offered.

“I don’t care,” he said, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “I don’t want a sandwich half as damn much as I just wanna hold you like this.” 

Carol turned around. Her expression was caught somewhere between a dreamy smile—the kind she got when she really liked something he said to her—and a frown.

“We have to talk, Daryl,” she said.

“I don’t like the way you say that,” Daryl informed her, letting her go.

“I’m not sure you’re going to like what I have to say, either.”

Daryl’s stomach twisted.

“Then just say it,” he said. “The sooner you say it, the sooner—we can get past it. Get back to snuggling on the couch.” 

“You might not want to snuggle and cuddle when we’re done,” Carol said.

Daryl’s stomach felt uncomfortable, and it bubbled up with something like anger that he recognized was only his inner desire to defend himself against whatever might be coming next. 

“Just say whatever it is,” Daryl said, holding back from bristling as much as he felt inclined to do. “To be honest, Carol? I don’t—know that I give a shit about it. Because we weren’t talking before, and I was just fine and you seemed alright, too. But you seem to think it’s somethin’ we gotta say so—so say it.” 

Carol nodded at him and she turned back quietly to finish making the sandwich. Daryl didn’t want the sandwich, but he’d eat it to make her happy. He’d also give her the time to finish what she was doing because he could imagine she was using it to think and prepare herself. He sat down at the table and every single second felt like a passing eternity as his imagination created things to worry about—things she might tell him.

Carol put the sandwich on the table in front of Daryl with a glass of tea before she finally sat down across from him.

“I hope you don’t think I’m in the mood to eat this when you look like you about to tell me my execution date,” Daryl offered. 

“I’m sorry,” Carol said. “It’s nothing like that—maybe it’s just my feelings that have me looking like that.” 

“Talk it through with me,” Daryl said. He pushed the plate toward Carol, trying to offer her half of the sandwich, but she shook her head and waved it away. Whatever was on her mind was making her not want to eat—much like her expression was making him not want to eat. “Come on,” he urged, reaching out and touching her hand. She let him take her hand. She let him hold it, so he worked it in his fingers. She smiled to herself at the gesture. She shrugged her shoulders.

“My period is—very light, Daryl,” Carol said. She looked at him like that was supposed to mean something important. He shrugged at her. 

“That bad?” He asked. “You feelin’ OK?”

“I’m OK,” Carol assured. “Normal period yuck, you know…just boobs and cramps, and I’m tired…but…it’s a little bit different.” 

“Different, how?” Daryl asked.

“I think—it’s menopause, Daryl. The start of it, anyway.” 

“Menopause?” 

“It probably means—I can’t get pregnant anymore, Daryl,” Carol said. 

“Yesterday you were—startin’ your period,” Daryl said. “And we were talkin’ about how—how it meant that you weren’t pregnant for…for this month right here. Right? But—for next month we just go at it again, and we don’t miss our window, and we go from there. And today…you’re havin’ menopause and you just can’t get pregnant anymore? Period?”

Daryl shook his head, feeling like maybe some physical motion could shake loose some of the fog that felt like it had suddenly settled over his mind. 

Carol frowned at him, apologetically, and he could hear her apologizing even though she kept her lips pressed tight together because she knew he would ask her not to apologize.

“I think that’s what it is,” Carol said. “My period never—fully started. It’s like it’s already ending. I mean—you maybe realized that. There’s like no blood. I mean…there’s some, but it’s not really there.” 

She rubbed her face with her hand in clear frustration.

“You know that’s what it is, though?” Daryl asked. “You know it’s menopause?”

“I’m pretty sure,” Carol said.

“Pretty sure or sure?” Daryl asked.

“Sure,” Carol said. 

“How do you know?” Daryl asked. 

“It’s menopause, Daryl,” Carol said. “Every woman knows it’s coming. I’m forty-seven. It’s time for my body to give up on—all of that.”

“Give up on…”

“Babies,” Carol said.

Daryl nodded, digesting everything she was saying. 

“Well?” She asked after a long moment of silence. She’d worked herself up into a ball in her chair, and she was leaning half propped on her elbow.

“Well, what?” Daryl asked. 

“What do you think about that?” Carol asked.

Daryl bit one half of his sandwich.

“I think you’re having menopause and…I guess…that’s normal…and…hell…I don’t know. What am I supposed to think?” 

“I know you want a family, Daryl. I know you want a baby.” 

“You, too, last I checked. That changed since yesterday?” 

She frowned at him. He tensed slightly.

“I can’t help but keep wondering, Daryl, if it’s fair to you,” Carol said. “You want a family. A baby. Everything. As a man, you could have that forever. And if I can’t give you that…”

“Then it means that we just don’t get everything we want,” Daryl said quickly, finishing it for Carol.

She stared at him. He stared back at her and chewed through another bite of his sandwich. It didn’t taste good. It didn’t taste like anything at all. He ate it to give his hands and mouth something to do. He ate it because his brain told him that’s what he should do with food that was placed in front of him. 

“I really want you to think about this,” Carol said. “Because I don’t want you to wake up in a year and feel like—I kept you from having what you want.”

Daryl laughed to himself. He sucked some strawberry jam off his thumb and put down the last bite of the first half of the sandwich. With the non-sticky hand, he reached across the table and caught Carol’s hand, capturing it in his own.

“I really want you to—to listen to this, OK?” Daryl asked. “You listenin’? Ears fully open?” 

Carol stared at him and nodded her head. He squeezed her hand in his.

“I don’t need to think about anything,” he said. “I don’t. Not a single damn thing. Because it’s gonna hurt my feelings tomorrow, and a year from now, and twenty years from now, even, that we don’t have no children between us. Probably—it’s gonna break my heart, just a little bit, every time I…look over and see you sleepin’ next to me in the bed and I think how damn much we woulda loved ‘em. But not for the reason you’re thinking. Because—you want it. And I want it. And we’d be damn good parents. And it don’t make no fuckin’ sense that the world would let people have babies that don’t deserve ‘em and we wouldn’t. But—I ain’t never gonna be sad because I was thinkin’ I’d rather have a kid than…this. I only want it as a thing of we got this and that. Not a thing of I got that but…not this.”

“I really love you,” Carol offered.

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“Yeah, well—I really love you. And I meant what I said yesterday. If it’s true and you’re havin’ menopause and that means we don’t never have a kid? Well, we can be sad as long as we’re bein’ sad together. Right? But—I don’t like the feelin’ it gives me when it sounds like you’re tryin’ to push me out the door or something.”

Carol leaned forward and moved Daryl’s hand to brush her cheek against his knuckles. He smiled to himself at the affection.

“I don’t want to push you out the door,” she said. “I don’t want you to ever leave.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Daryl offered. “Here—eat the other half of this sandwich.”

“I’m not hungry, really,” Carol assured him. “I don’t feel good.” 

Daryl nodded, accepting that. It was a lot, and it was sure to take away her appetite while she let it all settle. He ate the rest of the sandwich quickly and washed it down with the whole of the glass of tea. 

“Good?” Carol asked.

Daryl didn’t want to tell her that he’d eaten it out of obligation more than anything.

“You always make the best sandwiches,” he offered. She smiled to herself and he felt pleased with the response he’d chosen. “You were wrong about one thing, though.” 

“What’s that?” Carol asked.

“I still wanna cuddle some more,” Daryl said.

Carol smiled and her cheeks blushed pink. She unfolded herself. She stood up. She took Daryl’s hand and she tugged it. 

“Want me to wash the dishes?” He asked.

“I want you to leave them,” Carol said. “Because—I want you to hold me.” 

Daryl’s heart thumped harder in his chest. 

“You don’t gotta ask me but once, woman,” he offered, following her back to their spot on the couch. “I’ll hold you all night. Forever—if you’ll let me.”


	65. Chapter 65

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“Order whatever you want, Sugar,” Merle said, looking at the menu like neither he nor Andrea had practically memorized the food on offer.

They were leaving in the morning for a mountain getaway that would span a long weekend for the both of them. The little place they’d be staying—a small cabin that was part of a collection of small cabins in a campground kind of set-up—had been rented. The agenda had been set by Andrea. She thought that Merle was under the impression that this was just some kind of fall getaway to suit her, with absolutely no romantic agenda—the revelation of an obsession she had with apples, pumpkins, and changing leaves in the mountains. Merle knew it was a bit more than that.

The cabins were private and, based on the pictures she’d shown him on her phone, they looked cozy and comfortable –it was certainly not a rustic camping trip. It had been Merle that had mentioned to Andrea that he’d like to do some of the silly little fall activities that everyone seemed so crazy about doing simply for the experience of it all. His memory wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t recall that she hadn’t mentioned a single bit of interest in the getaway until he’d said that.

Still, if he didn’t point it out, they didn’t have to talk about it in depth. There was no need to analyze it. It could simply be a nice trip that they took. Andrea wasn’t going to force any kind of conversation about it, that much was clear. And, really, Merle would rather enjoy the trip than talk about it.

Besides—Andrea thought Merle didn’t know about the true nature of their little trip, but Merle knew that Andrea didn’t know about the two-carat diamond that he’d packed down in the bottom of his toiletry bag.

Tonight, though, was just a normal Thursday night. 

They’d decided they were hungry and Merle had a craving for the loaded potato skins that were better at Salty’s, honestly, than they were anywhere else. Andrea had agreed to eat with him there, never really minding when he made choices about what they’d do or where they’d go. 

Neither wanted any kind of hangover the following morning, since they intended to leave bright and early, so they were both sipping on water while Andrea struggled to make a decision.

“You can get more’n one thing, Andrea,” Merle offered after the second time he’d waved away their waiter. She looked like she might gnaw a hole in her lip just trying to make a decision over finger foods. She looked at him with a somewhat desperate expression on her face. Merle couldn’t help but smile to himself. She looked adorable, to him, when she made a face like that. “I mean it,” he said. “Get two. Hell, get three. We’ll box up the leftovers and have somethin’ to snack on while we drivin’ tomorrow.” 

“I kind of want potato skins, too,” Andrea said. “You want to split something with me, Merle? We’ll split the potatoes and something else?” 

“I know I can eat all six of them skins, and I know you can, too,” Merle said. “Hell—if that’s what you want, we each get an order. And somethin’ else, besides, if you want it.” 

After a moment more of painful contemplation of the menu, Andrea made her choices. Merle waved the waiter back over and put in the order for two orders of potato skins and, on the side, one order of the chicken fingers that they could split to round out the meal they were creating. 

Merle had just put the menus away, shoving them behind the condiment stand on the table, when they both became aware that they were no longer alone.

Merle registered the man’s presence only a half second after Andrea.

“Shane…” Andrea said.

Merle knew the name. Shane had been Andrea’s ex and, honestly, wasn’t a man that she spoke about very fondly. He was on the police force, though he wasn’t in uniform tonight. Merle didn’t know him personally, but he could tell, in an instant, that he didn’t like him.

“What the hell, Andrea?” Shane growled as a means of starting the conversation. “This is why the hell you don’t answer my calls? I should have known I’d find your fat ass down here whoring around and getting wider.” 

The man was clearly intoxicated. Merle could see it in the way he moved, but he could also smell it on him—as though he’d either spilled his drink on himself or had been drinking, on and off, for a couple of days so that it was actually beginning to seep out of his pores.

“I don’t have to answer your calls, Shane,” Andrea said, apparently choosing to ignore the rest of his words. “There’s no law that says I have to.”

“Except you’re my girlfriend—or do you conveniently forget that when you’ve got someone else to run around with?” 

Andrea laughed to herself.

“I’m not your girlfriend, Shane. And I didn’t forget anything—no more than you ever forgot it when Rick’s been out of town for the night and Lori’s had an open evening,” Andrea offered. 

Merle had full intentions to stay out of it, really. He meant to let them handle this little exchange themselves. Sometimes such things were necessary to bring an end to whatever this was.

He couldn’t stay out of it, though, when the off-duty officer landed a hard slap across Andrea’s face as punishment for something he apparently thought she wasn’t supposed to say.

Merle was out of the booth as quickly as he could be and had returned the slap, on behalf of Andrea, with a quick and solid punch to the man’s face.

Merle worked his fingers down by his side. He hadn’t broken his hand. This wasn’t his first punch, and it wasn’t his first experience with working out where and how to hit someone to have the most possible impact without sacrificing his own fingers in the process.

Shane looked genuinely surprised. 

“You’re assaulting an officer of the law, asshole,” he growled when he got enough of his sense back to register reality. 

Andrea was protesting from the booth, but Merle could only deal with one thing at a time and, right now, he wanted the asshole in front of him to have his full attention.

“You ain’t in uniform,” Merle offered. “And this is personal—ain’t got shit to do with your job. Self-defense on the part of this here lady, and everybody here seen you attack her.” 

Shane looked around to register that, in fact, others were watching them and had likely seen the exchange. Merle wouldn’t hit him again—not unless he had to. He could argue that he was defending Andrea if he only exchanged blow for blow.

“This isn’t your discussion,” Shane said.

“Don’t look like a discussion to me at all,” Merle said. “Looks like you come over here botherin’ my woman, and she don’t want you botherin’ her. Looks like she told you so an’ you hit her. So—I hit you back to keep you from puttin’ your hands on her again. Don’t put your hands on her again, and we don’t got no more problems, right?” 

Shane was absolutely going to have a hell of a shiner. Merle didn’t dare to flick his eyes to Andrea long enough to see how she was faring from Shane’s hit. It wouldn’t matter. He’d make her feel better about it when this was over. For now, he wanted to keep the eye contact he’d established with the angry man. Staring him down was a way to de-escalate the situation.

“Are you threatening me?” Shane asked.

Merle laughed to himself.

“Only if you consider me tellin’ you that if you touch her again—hurt her again? I’ma defend her ass. You consider that a threat…” Merle shrugged his shoulders.

Shane practically bared his fangs at Merle. Merle was amused by the clear frustration and pure white-hot anger that was bubbling inside the man. Something had driven him to drink at Salty’s. Merle doubted it was actually Andrea, though, given that he hadn’t seemed to miss her too much—at least not until he saw someone playing with his proverbial toys.

In his drunkenness, Shane switched gears.

“You don’t know her too damn well. You don’t know her at all,” Shane said.

“I think I know her all right,” Merle offered. He laughed to himself. “At least enough to know she don’t like gettin’ popped in the mouth.” 

“She’s a whore,” Shane offered. “Sick, too. She likes shit like that. Getting hit. Told what to do. She probably got off on it.” 

Merle shook his head. 

“No, that aint’ what she gets off on,” Merle offered. “Might be what you get off on, but it wouldn’t do shit for her.” He winked at Shane. “Don’t you worry. I know you didn’t never figure out what exactly it was that she liked—she told me all about it. But I got it covered, so you can rest easy.” 

The anger boiling in Shane was practically visible. Merle swallowed back his amusement and did his best to tune out Andrea’s protests. He couldn’t be distracted by that right now—there would be plenty of time to deal with it later.

Shane reached quickly toward Andrea—faster than Merle could block him. All he did was get his hand closed around the upper part of her arm, though, and begin to move like he might drag her out of the booth before Merle had a hand on each of his shoulders. He didn’t do too much—he wanted everyone to see that he was only trying to stop Shane’s movements.

He wasn’t trying to land in jail, no matter how much he might bluff, because they were going to the mountains in the morning, and he wasn’t letting this asshole fuck everything up for their nice little fall weekend.

“Let go of the lady,” Merle said. “You’re a lil’ bit drunk. So why don’t you just go sit down some damn where and have yourself a nice ass glass of water? I’ve tried it. It’s fresh here. Cool. Tastes like glacier water—not like no damn tap water.” He raised his eyebrows at Shane. “And remove your fingers from the top of her damn arm before I’m forced to break ‘em loose so you can’t even hold your water glass. You got me?” 

“I could put you in prison for assault and threatening an officer!” Shane protested. 

It was clear that his inebriation made him want to keep fighting, but his expression said that he wasn’t even sure of what he was saying or whether or not he truly wanted to keep fighting. Merle also knew that he was bluffing. He wasn’t throwing Merle in jail for anything. If anything, half the bar had seen him assault Andrea without provocation.

Merle simply smiled at him.

“You go ahead an’ try,” Merle offered. “But I’m tellin’ you to take your damned hands off the woman. You about to find out that, at my age, even the words life in prison don’t hold the same weight they once did.” 

“Fuck you,” Shane said, but he did remove his hand from Andrea’s arm and she moved backward in the booth to put as much distance between them as she could. “Fuck you!” Shane repeated, this time directing the words to Andrea. He looked back at Merle with venom in his expression. “You can have her any damn way…she’s not worth it.” 

Shane turned and somewhat faltered when he did so. Merle reached out a hand to steady him, but he righted himself without Merle’s assistance. Merle swallowed back his laughter, but not all of his amusement, as he watched the man leave the bar with long strides toward the door. Merle wasn’t sure if he’d paid or would find a tab waiting on him the next time he came in there—likely sober and unable to remember what had happened here or how he got the shiner he’d wake up with in the morning—but he didn’t stop and nobody stopped him.

When he was gone, Merle slid into the booth across from Andrea. He could see the waiter, charged with bringing their possibly cooled down food, was hovering some distance away, frozen and waiting for some kind of sign about how to proceed. 

Merle ignored him a moment and reached across to touch Andrea’s face.

“You OK, Sugar?” Merle asked. Andrea nodded at him, but he wasn’t sure he believed the nod. He examined her face. Shane had landed a decent enough hit that it would bruise. “We’ll put some ice on that. Won’t show too bad. You wanna eat here or you wanna take it to go?” 

“I’m not hungry,” Andrea said.

Merle laughed to himself.

“You were,” Merle said. “And you will be later. When your adrenaline slows down.” 

“You heard what he said.”

“I heard a lotta drunk bullshit, that’s what I heard,” Merle said.

“He’s right. I don’t have any business eating—crap—at night. Or ever. My ass and thighs are enormous.” 

Merle laughed to himself. He winked at her. 

“You just like I like you, Sugar. That’s all there is to it,” Merle offered. “Gets cool up in them mountains. What the hell else I’ma use to keep my ears warm at night if ain’t them beautiful thighs, Sugar?” 

Andrea laughed in spite of herself.

“Some people might use—a hat,” she teased.

“Some people wouldn’t know a damn good thing if they had it,” Merle said. He raised his hand and waved at the waiter who was looking nervous and jumpy. “Come on. Let’s get this shit to go. I’ve had just about as damn much of the atmosphere as I want and I suddenly got a cravin’ to eat somethin’ else ‘fore I dive into these potatoes.”


	66. Chapter 66

AN: Here we are, another little chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

“Do I finally get to see the masterpiece?” Carol teased, stepping into the kitchen. Daryl turned the pumpkin away from her a little more and she laughed.

The floor was covered with old towels, newspaper, and paper towels in the kitchen and the living room. They’d done it all. They’d cleaned the pumpkins themselves, and now they were carving the two masterpieces that would sit on the porch steps to, soon, welcome Trick-or-Treaters to their home for candy.

Daryl had never carved a pumpkin before, and he wanted the full holiday experience—everything he’d ever seen on every single one of his movies, shared between them. Carol had assumed he’d simply carve some triangle eyes into his pumpkin and a similarly simple rest of the face, but he’d been working on something that had required him to sit in the floor and chew on the logistics for a bit. He’d also been on his phone, googling things to help to make his vision come true.

And he was determined that Carol wasn’t going to see his pumpkin until it was finished.

Carol, too, had done her own googling. She’d drawn out her pumpkin, but she was unsure about carving it, so she was saving it for Daryl to help her. Daryl, after all, always beamed at her declarations that he was good at things, and he loved helping her with anything and everything.

“You keep tryin’ to cheat,” Daryl offered with a crooked smile. He was happy, and that happiness was contagious. The whole house felt like it was practically brimming over with contentedness. 

“What am I going to do? Copy your pumpkin?” Carol teased back. “I’ve already drawn mine out. I just need you to carve it out for me.” 

Immediately, pleasure at the approval of his carving skills registered in a soft smile on Daryl’s face. Then, the smile morphed into the wicked, crooked grin that he got whenever he was thinking something that, maybe, he thought wasn’t acceptable. Carol felt her face run warm in anticipation of his teasing.

“What?” She asked.

“Nothin’,” Daryl dismissed, laughing to himself. 

“Go ahead,” Carol urged, picking up the laughter. “I want to hear it.” 

Daryl half snorted.

“I was just thinkin’—you give me time? There’s a lot I’ll carve out for you.” He laughed when Carol laughed. “Shit—it sounded even worse comin’ out than it did in my head.”

Carol hummed at him. 

“You finish carving the pumpkins and I’ll let you have a go at something else,” she teased. “How about the mulled cider, Daryl? Can I get it started?” 

He smiled. He’d forgotten the treat—among many holiday treats they had planned for future days—that they’d prepared to have that night.

“You better get on it, woman! Done had me waitin’ too long,” Daryl responded. The same crooked grin followed Carol as he waited for her to give him some sort of response. She simply rolled her eyes at him and gave him a pretend warning glare before she stepped around him, noticing as he turned his pumpkin again and worked his way across the floor. She got to work getting the cider ready for sipping. She didn’t know how real mulled cider worked, but theirs was nothing more than apple juice that, when she warmed it on the stove, would be mixed with the ingredients from the spice packages they’d bought.

The authenticity didn’t really matter that much. Perfection didn’t matter at all—something Carol was still struggling to adjust to, honestly, because she was still so accustomed to thinking that anything less than perfect would be viewed and treated as an absolute failure. Daryl was a man who was, for all intents and purposes, only interested in intention and the attempt to make things the best that they could be, since he rarely viewed perfection as anything even remotely achievable.

Merle and Andrea had left on an autumn themed retreat to the mountains that morning, and before lunch time it had Daryl concerned that maybe he hadn’t done anything nice for Carol and, maybe, she might be feeling sad or cheated in some way.

Carol had figured out that, maybe, it was Daryl that was feeling a little sad and cheated. She’d texted Daryl throughout the day, called him on her lunch break, and by the time she’d left work, Carol had a short list of things to pick up at the store to create the perfect autumn stay-cation that they could have that weekend.

“Alright—I’m done,” Daryl said. “But—just keep in mind it oughta look different when it’s lit up.”

Carol stepped away from the simmering apple juice and turned to admire Daryl’s creation. She smiled to herself. It was a simple enough design, but it was clear that he’d taken painstaking care to make sure that it was as perfect as he could possibly make it.

“Can you tell what it is?” Daryl asked.

“I can,” Carol assured him.

“It’s OK?” He asked.

“I love it,” Carol said. “And I think you’re going to really like my idea when you see it. And now I’m certain you’ll do better at it than I would.”

Daryl’s pumpkin wasn’t traditional, perhaps, by any stretch of the imagination. He’d carefully carved the letters and design so that it would, when it was lit up, appear as he wanted it to appear instead of being, as Carol had feared some of her design might end up if she tried to carve it, like gaping holes where letters had been intended.

The simple design was a letter D, a heart, and a letter C. 

“You sure it’s alright that it ain’t—like a face or something?” Daryl asked.

“Did you want it to be a face?” Carol asked. “And—your knife just slipped?” 

Daryl laughed to himself and shook his head. He turned his pumpkin to admire it.

“Nah,” he said. “This is what I wanted.”

“Then it’s perfect,” Carol said. “And—I love it. Because—I don’t know if it’s true or not…I mean…I don’t know if D loves C, but…C does love D.” 

Her face ached from trying to hold back the enormity of the smile that she felt inside her. Daryl’s face ran a warm red, and he didn’t try to hold back his smile.

“D does love C,” he offered. “It’s carved in a pumpkin now, so it’s gotta be true.” 

“You’re going to laugh when you see mine,” Carol said.

“Is it C loves D?” Daryl asked with amusement.

“Not quite,” Carol said. “Go get it? I don’t want this to burn. I don’t know if it can burn, really, but I feel like, if I leave it now, I’ll probably find out.” 

Daryl got up, playfully making noises to illustrate how difficult it was to unfold himself and get up from his spot on the floor after he’d been there for so long, and went into the living room. He returned, grinning and carrying Carol’s pumpkin with her desired design sketched lightly onto it.

“Dixon?” 

“Mmmm hmmm,” Carol hummed. “I couldn’t figure out how in the world to make the D work, but now I know you can do it.” The crooked grin appeared again and Carol laughed to herself. Never before did she think that a facial expression would be able to give her such a warm feeling in her belly—or just below it. “Go ahead. I want to hear it.” 

Daryl’s smile spread.

“I ain’t heard no complaints from you yet on how the hell I work the D,” he offered with a wink.

“You better stop teasing unless you’re prepared to deliver on all this,” Carol said. 

“Oh, don’t you worry,” Daryl said, settling back into his place with a groan and picking up the small knife he was using because he worried that the larger knives wouldn’t handle his serious and detailed work on their pumpkins. “I’m not teasin’. I promise you. I’ma lay you down after all this is done and I’ma do you right.” 

“You always do,” Carol assured him. 

“This one is pretty easy to do now,” Daryl said, focusing a moment on his carving. “Hell—now that I know what I’m doin’, this ain’t nothin’ at all. That one was tough, though. I had to figure out how the hell to get it to show up like I wanted. This one moves quick.” 

Carol filled mugs with the hot cider and put the pot to the side. It could be warmed if he wanted more. 

Daryl finished cutting out the “Dixon” on her pumpkin in record time. He was a quick study, from what Carol could tell, in almost everything and, once he’d gotten the hang of it, he worked quickly and well.

“What’cha think?” He asked, lifting the pumpkin up and presenting it to her once he was on his feet. “It suit you?” 

“It’s perfect,” Carol said. “Do you like it?” 

“I love it,” Daryl assured her. 

“I always wanted to—be that couple,” Carol mused.

“The Dixons?” Daryl asked with a laugh, carefully returning the pumpkin to the floor with his to wait until they carried them outside. When he had straightened back up and stretched his back, Carol offered him a mug.

“I didn’t know it, but yeah. I think I always wanted to be the Dixons,” Carol said. “But mostly I was meaning—that couple that puts their name on everything because they love each other and they love that they share their name. Not like—not like it sometimes felt with Ed.” 

“How’d it feel?” Daryl asked, clearly genuinely curious.

Carol shrugged her shoulders and warmed her not-really-cold hands on her mug as a knee-jerk reaction to holding something hot.

“Like it was a stamp of ownership,” Carol said. “Like Ed Peletier owned me and everything I was. Everything I’d ever been or—or would be. When his name went on things, it felt like he was saying—I own this, too. Even if it was only the mailbox or the wreath or…whatever.” 

“It don’t feel that way to put Dixon on things?” 

“Putting Dixon on things is still new for me, but…no,” Carol said, shaking her head. “It feels like—I guess—it feels good. It feels happy. Right. Like we’re just saying we’re the Dixons and we love each other and we love being the Dixons.” She laughed to herself. “That sounds terrible, doesn’t it?”

“Sounds wonderful to me,” Daryl offered.

“Corny.” 

Daryl shook his head. 

“Good. Warm. I like it.” 

“The Dixons or the cider?” Carol asked. He’d already tasted his beverage. 

“Both,” Daryl said, nodding his head. “But havin’ the cider as the Dixons is just about hittin’ the sweetest spot there is.” 

Carol smiled at him and he leaned to kiss her. She accepted the kiss and deepened it, letting their tongues play together. She laughed at him when the kiss broke and he playfully tugged at her lip before dipping his head very quickly to kiss the crook of her neck and nip the skin there. 

“The cider doesn’t taste bad at all,” Carol said. “Mine’s too hot to drink, but it tastes pretty good on your tongue.” 

Daryl snorted. 

“Let me get me another swallow and you can have another taste.” 

He drank another swallow of the cider and Carol accepted the kiss he offered. She loved the kisses, and she was more than happy for the levity of the moment and the playfulness of the kisses. Just a year before, she never would have imagined the possibility of loving someone this much and enjoying something as simple as playing with the man she loved so much that it made her stomach practically quivery to think about it. 

But she did love Daryl, and she loved that he loved to have fun with her. She loved that he allowed her to have fun with him.

“You’re sure you don’t mind the Dixons pumpkin?” Carol asked when the kiss broke. “You didn’t have something else in mind?” 

“Love it. Love both of ‘em,” Daryl said. “What do you say we go light ‘em up?”

Carol hummed at him and abandoned her mug on the kitchen counter so that she could wrap her arms around Daryl and fully hug him, rubbing her face against him. 

“So, then you can stop just teasing me and actually make good on all these big promises you’ve been making all evening?” She asked. She pulled away long enough to give him her own smirk and to raise her eyebrows at him in challenge. He appreciated it, and he wrapped one arm around her and squeezed her with it.

“You got somethin’ particular in mind you achin’ to have?” He asked.

She mused on it, resting her head against him again. 

“I’m not too picky,” she said. “But—something good and hard.” She put extra emphasis on her last word and Daryl’s amusement rumbled in his chest.

“Now you teasin’ me,” Daryl said with a laugh. 

“Oh—I wasn’t teasing. Unless—you’re not up to it,” she said, emphasizing the word that would make the pun come off just as she’d planned.

“Come on, woman,” Daryl said. “Let’s go light these pumpkin’s up—and then I’ma go light you up.” 

“Mmm,” Carol said, making a face of pretend disapproval at him that she wasn’t able to hold too long against the impeding smile. “That one was a bit of a stretch.”

Daryl pulled away and, in response, half turned her and smacked her playfully on the ass cheek. 

“Always ridin’ my ass,” Daryl teased.

“That’s the plan,” Carol responded, laughing when Daryl finally shook his head and laughed at her, pulling away to carry the pumpkins outside. 

She was glad Merle and Andrea were having their little trip to celebrate the season, but she certainly wasn’t hating staying at home with her husband.


	67. Chapter 67

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol and Daryl both forgave Merle and Andrea for the shock they received when, upon returning from their mountain escape, they’d both come wearing bands that declared they’d done more than pick apples in the mountains.

Andrea and Merle had surprised Daryl and Carol by showing up at the door at an hour when Daryl and Carol would have soon considered it bedtime. Decaf coffee had been put on to brew and a long conversation—longer than any of them might have chosen to have, at that hour, under different circumstances—began. The initial conversation, though, hadn’t been about the wedding bands. The first thing that Daryl wanted to know, before anything else, was exactly why it was that Merle had bruised knuckles and Andrea was sporting evidence of a hard blow to her face.

Convinced that neither was lying and that Shane Walsh had been the one to hit Andrea and, if he were seen, would be wearing evidence of the hit that Merle had doled out, the conversation had turned to the acquisition of bands.

Carol had worried that Daryl would be upset that he’d missed his brother getting married, but he’d quickly and easily accepted Merle and Andrea’s explanation—Merle didn’t like being the center of attention, especially in certain circumstances, and Andrea fully accepted that about her new husband. Carol had further soothed over any potentially hurt feelings by reminding Daryl that Andrea and Merle had to do things Andrea and Merle’s way, not Daryl and Carol’s way. Daryl had been pleased enough to think they had an established “way” of doing things that he’d quickly gotten over the hurt of not being there to hear vows exchanged in a courthouse just inside the Georgia line on the way back from their trip.

Now it was Halloween, and they were all handing out candy at Daryl and Carol’s house.

Whereas it had been Andrea’s idea to dress as a Pink Lady with Merle as her chosen Greaser, it had been Daryl’s idea that he should be a cowboy while Carol was dressed as—this time—a tasteful and child-friendly madame. Of course, Carol had promised him that they could play their own version of the Wild West once the candy was doled out and his brother and Andrea had gone home.

“I’ve had enough apple cider in the past few days that—I just can’t stomach it anymore,” Carol admitted, pulling a pan out of the oven to check on the status of a type of sweet snack recipe she was testing. Andrea was helping herself to another mug of hot apple cider, and she’d offered to warm one in the microwave for Carol as well.

“Holiday madness?” Andrea asked with a laugh. While her cider warmed, she went back to filling little plastic bags with popcorn. 

Outside, Daryl and Merle were holding down fold-out lawn chairs and handing out popcorn and candy as the children approached to yell “Trick-or-Treat” at them and to wait for some sort of approval on their costumes.

“Candy apples, apple cider, candy…” Carol ticked off. She laughed to herself as she dumped the caramel and chocolate pretzel treats into one of the large bowls to serve it to the men who were enjoying their first Halloween as the kind of men who dressed in coordinating outfits with their wives and doled out candy to neighborhood children. “Besides the fact I’m guaranteed to gain twenty pounds before January, all the rich food is probably going to kill me.” 

Andrea laughed, and tied the tops of the popcorn bags with a little more concentration and care than was truly necessary. 

“I’d say you’re getting your fill, too,” Carol said. 

Andrea hummed at her in question, but she didn’t voice her question or look up from her work. Carol considered tasting one of her latest creations, but even the thought of it made her stomach complain and threaten a revolt. She’d eaten her way through too many treats early in the day and her gut wasn’t pleased with her poor choices.

“You haven’t been at the café early for like a week,” Carol said with a laugh. “And Jacqui said you didn’t want to try her chocolate covered pretzel cookies that she created.” 

“I’ve been there by nine,” Andrea said. “And—she wanted me to try that for breakfast. Who’s eating something like that for breakfast.”

“Are you saying you usually turn down cookies for breakfast?” Carol asked, laughing to herself.

Andrea fussed with popcorn baggies for a moment longer, abandoned them, and quickly walked over to the windows that would allow her to see outside. She came back quickly to Carol and grabbed her shoulder to get her attention. She hardly needed to do so, Carol was already focused on her. There was a slight expression of panic on her face, and Carol could practically feel concern radiating off her.

“What’s wrong?” Carol asked. 

“I don’t know if anything’s wrong,” Andrea said. 

Carol laughed. She wasn’t even sure why her body offered her that particular reaction. She didn’t feel like anything was funny. She was concerned, more than anything.

“But you think something’s wrong.” 

“I think—I might be pregnant,” Andrea said.

Carol’s stomach bottomed out so completely that she felt lightheaded. She reached her hand out and caught the side of the counter next to her—though she tried to do it in the most casual and non-attention-grabbing manner possible. 

“I know,” Andrea said, frowning and drawing her face up in an expression of something very akin to actual physical pain. “I didn’t mean to…and I know you’re…I know you’ve…been upset…and…”

Carol caught Andrea’s hands quickly. Whether or not she fully felt what she was about to say, she felt compelled to say it because, if it wasn’t true in that precise moment, it would be true when the ache in her chest subsided.

“Hey—you’re my best friend,” Carol said. A half smile flitted across Andrea’s lips. “You have—supported me, in every single way you could, since the day I met you in a cooking class. I’m going to be happy for you no matter what. Nothing and nobody can stop me.” 

Andrea laughed nervously to herself. There were tears starting to puddle in her eyes, and Carol quickly shook her head at her and grabbed a paper towel from the nearby roll as the only thing that she had on hand to offer her. 

“None of that,” Carol said. She realized, as soon as she said it, that she was feeling better. She was no longer feeling that strange, sick sense of devastation that had first ran over her. She was telling the truth—she cared for Andrea, and she was happy for her, even if she may not be happy for herself. “You don’t know for sure?” 

Andrea shook her head. She dabbed at her eyes and her nose with the paper towel.

“I just—started putting things together. “I haven’t felt—like me. And I’ve been—I’ve been all over the place. Emotionally. I thought it was the relationship. Merle. The proposal. Getting married. All this—stuff—that I really didn’t think was ever going to happen. I don’t know. It’s like—a gut instinct. Like I just kind of know, but I don’t know for sure because—every time I get ready to take a test? I mean I’ve locked myself in the bathroom at the salon for the past three mornings, but…I just chicken out.”

“So, you don’t know what Merle thinks yet,” Carol said.

Andrea shook her head.

“We’ve never talked about it. I mean—never. Not really. I’ve tried to bring it up a couple of times, but…it’s not really something that comes up easily in conversation.”

“Especially not when you’re nervous about giving yourself away,” Carol offered.

“I asked him about kids,” Andrea said. “On the way over here. Not about us having kids, just…kids. Because of the whole Halloween thing…”

“And?” Carol asked.

Andrea shrugged.

“He said they were alright. Then he changed the subject. He started talking about work.”

Carol nodded.

“Just—don’t worry about it, OK? Not right now. Tonight, just enjoy the night. Tomorrow, you can come by the café in the morning. Bring a test. You can take it and—Jacqui and I will keep you company while you wait.” 

“I don’t want Jacqui to know right now,” Andrea said. 

“Then she won’t,” Carol assured her. “You’ll come. You’ll take the test. And only the two of us will know.” 

“You’re not mad at me?” Andrea asked.

Carol laughed to herself. Her stomach clenched. There was something there, burning inside her, but it wasn’t anger—and it wasn’t Andrea’s fault.

“I’ll never be mad at you,” Carol said. “Not really. Not for anything like this. Now, come on. Let’s get them some more snacks before the kids start playing tricks on them.” 

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“We’re keepin’ your Halloween costume,” Daryl mused. Carol shivered as he traced a circle gently around her nipple with his fingertip. In response, her nipple hardened again and her mind sent a jolt to other parts of her body with the warning that there might be even more pleasure on the horizon.

She was already four or five orgasms deep in the evening, if she’d been counting correctly, and they’d spent relatively little time in bed. Daryl was learning, masterfully, how to push her buttons and he seemed to get as much, if not more, pleasure from her orgasms than he did from his own. 

Though she should be thoroughly satiated, the throbbing between her legs in response to his simple chosen ways to entertain his fingers while they basked in the afterglow told her that her body was never really satisfied—something she would have never known about herself before. 

She hated to ask for more, though. 

“What about your costume?” Carol asked.

“You like it?” Daryl asked.

Carol nodded. 

“It’s sexier than the novelty costumes,” she said. 

“Mostly just a plaid shirt an’ jeans,” Daryl said with a laugh.

“Maybe I like that,” Carol said. “It’s sexier to me. More—authentic.”

“Maybe that’s what I like about that outfit,” Daryl said. “Them little sexy things is sexy ‘cause that’s what they tryin’ to be. You see it—know what’s gonna happen. That outfit’s sexy, but it’s like a full outfit. Gives me more to imagine. More to unwrap.” 

Carol laughed to herself. 

“What could you possibly have left to imagine about seeing me naked?” She asked. Daryl smiled to himself, but he didn’t answer the question at all. Instead, like he simply needed to keep busy, and didn’t mean it at all, Daryl leaned and captured the nipple he’d been torturing in his mouth. He sucked it, swirling his tongue around it, and Carol gasped. 

“Hurt?” He asked, looking at her suddenly with a great deal of concern. “Your breasts still sore?” 

“A little bit,” Carol said. “They might be for a while. Hormones—take forever to even out, sometimes. But—it hurts good, Daryl. Really good.” 

He smirked at her. He cupped her breast with his hand, gently, and then he licked his thumb and moved to the other to gently rub it. He ran the damp thumb over her nipple, bringing it to the point where it stood at attention again. Then, flat palmed, he ran his hand down her body. She didn’t even mind that it seemed to slide over more hills than she wished were there. He didn’t seem to mind any number of hills and valleys as he continued his trek. Daryl held her eyes as he slipped his fingers between her legs and, immediately, plunged his middle finger into her while grinding his palm against her clit. 

She lifted off the bed, slightly, with the reaction. He smiled again.

“You hungry tonight. That’s right,” he practically cooed. “You open them legs on up to me so I can get to you good.”

Carol didn’t have to think to obey him. Her body had already done so out of pure instinct. He introduced another finger into her and worked his hand. She moved her hips to help him—to give him the satisfaction that he got from this kind of control over her body.

Daryl wanted control over her body sometimes, and she knew that, but at least the control he wanted, she’d found, was always pleasurable to her, too.

She closed her eyes as the feelings started to build.

“Uh uh,” Daryl chided. “Look at me or I’ma stop.” Carol did look at him. His eyes were practically dark. He needed time to rest for his body to show his arousal, but there was no doubt that he still found pleasure in what he was doing. Carol arched her back as the tension in her body increased, and Daryl increased his concentration on what he was doing, biting his lip and furrowing his brow. The intensity of his concern with the task at hand, showing on his face, was surprisingly enough to give Carol the last push that she needed to tip over the proverbial edge. He didn’t chide her when, somewhat against her will, she tossed her head back in the final wave of ecstasy that came with her orgasm. He did, however, keep working her until he was certain that she was done.

Immediately, he was kissing the side of her face and the area around her lips, his own lips catching the corner of hers. He didn’t want to suffocate her, but he wanted his kisses in the afterglow. She puckered at him, but he didn’t seem to mind that she’d missed him as she got control of herself.

“Good to you?” 

“Always,” Carol breathed out. “I know I’m supposed to be the madame, but—I feel like I’m the one that would have to pay you for all you do for me.”

Daryl nuzzled her neck and moved his body practically on top of hers. She wrapped her arms around him and he situated himself so that they could both be comfortable with most of their bodies touching.

He was starting to feel sleepy and, in direct correlation, snuggly. And Carol was happy to indulge him. She’d go to the restroom later, when he was dozing, but for now, she would hold him.

“All you do for me,” Daryl said, leaving the rest of the thought hanging.

Carol laughed to herself. She trailed her fingers gently against the skin on his back—skin she knew he had counted, for so long, off-limits. He’d told her that he loved, though, to feel her touch his scars. He loved for her to kiss and caress them. 

“What do I possibly do for you…” Carol mused, her stomach tightening with the sadness that had been threatening her all night. It had been creeping in no matter how hard she fought it back.

“Make me happy,” Daryl offered with a sigh. He rolled away from her enough to seek the position he would want for sleep. “Lotta shit, but…that’s the biggest thing.”

“What would make you happier?” Carol asked.

Daryl hummed at her. She didn’t have to turn her head to know that, if she did, she’d find him with his eyes closed and his face very close to her. 

“Just stay like you are,” Daryl said.

“You mean don’t move?” Carol asked with a laugh.

“I mean—just stay,” Daryl said. 

Carol’s chest squeezed. She knew he didn’t mean in the bed, as she was now. He wouldn’t mind when she got up to go to the bathroom. He meant something else entirely. Every now and again, she remembered, he needed reassurance the same way that she did. Just as sadness creeped in on her, it found him, too. She reached and patted him, then let her fingers run over his arm.

“Forever,” she promised.

“Good,” Daryl said.


	68. Chapter 68

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“I brought muffins,” Daryl said. 

He knew that, really, he didn’t need an excuse to be here. Agnes was happy to see him whenever he might show up on her doorstep, but he’d still felt like he needed something to serve as a reason to bother her.

Daryl had been working elsewhere for several days. He had nothing, at the moment, on his work orders for Agnes. It wouldn’t be long, though, before she needed something tightened or a bulb or two changed. Still, he wanted to talk to her now, so he’d stopped by the café, picked up a few muffins, given Carol a kiss on the cheek, and let her know that he would be a little late getting home. 

She’d given him her blessing to spend a little time with Agnes. She knew, after all, why he was popping in on the woman—at least, she knew part of the reason.

Agnes welcomed Daryl immediately inside, stationed him at the table without question, and a moment later there was the smell of coffee—decaf, he knew, because of the hour—brewing in Agnes’s coffee pot.

Daryl followed the silent protocol of waiting to begin talking until Agnes had brought the coffee pot and two mugs to the table. She enjoyed when he sat at the table with her and, since meeting her, she’d entertained Carol a few times when Carol had come by to share a cup of coffee with her and bring her some treat or another from the café.

“Now,” Agnes said, drawing the word out as she sat down and settled into her chair. She left it hanging and poured coffee. Daryl thanked her for the coffee and doled out muffins, quickly going for plates and napkins when she made a move as though she might get up again from her chair. When he returned, he let her settle into her muffin, and listened to her quick praise of his beautiful wife’s baking skills, before he spoke.

“Come for a couple things,” he said. “But first thing’s first. Me and Carol want you to come for Thanksgivin’ dinner.” 

“I couldn’t do that,” Agnes said quickly.

“You got better plans?” Daryl asked.

Agnes laughed to herself.

“Thanksgiving is family time,” Agnes said. “And you don’t want some old fuddy duddy like me coming around and messing up your fun.” 

“We’re not exactly party animals,” Daryl said. “And—I know Thanksgiving is family time. That’s why the hell I’m askin’ you to come to dinner.” 

He saw Agnes’s cheeks pinken. She digested it a moment and chewed at her muffin. She washed it down with a swallow of the hot coffee.

“I don’t want to impose,” she protested, with less enthusiasm behind her argument than before.

Daryl smiled at her.

“If you stay here, I know you gonna eat one of them frozen turkey dinner things the Y puts together and delivers,” Daryl said. “If you come to our house—you can eat the whole spread we got. Come early and Carol would sure appreciate the help and the company.” 

“I don’t know how much help I’d be,” Agnes said.

“You can brew the coffee for after dinner,” Daryl said with a wink. Agnes smiled sincerely, then. “I’ll pick you up. Early. Let’s say nine? Then you can spend the day helpin’ Carol and Andrea out and doin’ whatever it is that women do when they pile into the kitchen together.” Agnes looked pleased enough with that idea that it made Daryl’s stomach feel funny in a warm sort of way. “I got somethin’ else I need to talk to you about,” Daryl said after a moment.

“Me?”

“You specific.” 

“Go ahead. What is it, Daryl?” Agnes furrowed her brow and gave him her undivided attention. 

“You’re a woman,” Daryl said.

“Goodness, I do hope so,” Agnes said. “Otherwise, I’ve been laboring under a lie for all these years. My husband would have been sorely disappointed to learn that he’d been made a fool for so long…” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“You know what I mean.” 

Agnes laughed in response.

“What is it that you need?” 

“You’re a woman that—won’t tell Carol what I’m about to ask you,” Daryl said. He got a slightly disapproving look and he realized, in that moment, that without saying it, Agnes was saying that there was at least a slight shift in her allegiance. Carol’s occasional visits must have been good to her. He could practically hear her saying that she wouldn’t reveal whatever he was going to say—not unless it was something that needed to be revealed. “I got like a month left. I have to figure it out. I don’t know what you get a woman for Christmas.”

Nearly every movie that Daryl had seen had someone giving their chosen woman a diamond for Christmas, but Daryl and Carol were already married and, though she liked her engagement ring, Carol wasn’t really into wearing rings on every finger. In fact, her wedding ring and engagement ring were the only ones she wore.

Agnes immediately lightened and laughed to herself as she thought about Daryl’s question. She focused, a moment, on her muffin and coffee.

“That all depends on the woman,” she said. “We are talking about your wife, right? You don’t have some little girlfriend you’re buying presents for?” 

“You my only girlfriend,” Daryl teased. Agnes’s face ran pink again. 

“What does she like? That’s the best place to start.” 

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

“She don’t like nothin’ in particular,” Daryl said. “And she seems to like everything. She likes books, and I can get her a couple of those or somethin’, but…that ain’t no right kinda present, you know? What the hell she really wants…well, it ain’t gonna happen. I don’t got it in my power to give it to her.”

“Which is?” 

“A baby,” Daryl said. “But—she’s got menopause, so…”

Daryl had fought the idea, for a bit, that Carol was having menopause, like she said, and that there wasn’t just a next month or so to work on things. She said there were just so many eggs—like in a carton—and when they were gone, they were simply gone. He had figured that, maybe, there were still a few in there. 

He’d started to accept, though, that she simply must be right. There hadn’t been another period and, if he was right, there should have been by now. It had all just come to an end. 

It honestly made him sad, but it made him much sadder to know that it would make Carol happy, and it wasn’t going to happen, than it made him sad to think that it just wasn’t going to happen. 

Still, Carol was not as sad as she had been. Andrea had shocked the hell out of all of them—especially Merle—when she’d come in, not two days after Halloween, letting them know that she was pregnant. Daryl hadn’t been sure how Merle would take it, but he seemed to simply be accepting this as what it was. He was talking about upgrading some things in the house, turning Daryl’s old room into a nursery, and he’d accepted the diet that Andrea had put him on—one with a few more salads, she said, because he’d expressed his concern that he might not even see the kid graduate. She’d left him with his cigarettes because, frankly, Merle might not have survived the attempt to quit smoking, and Andrea might not either, but he’d agreed to clean up most of his eating and to severely limit his drinking. 

And Carol had found some kind of peace, for the most part. She had turned a lot of her energy that had formerly been sadness toward fussing over her best friend and deciding that, if she couldn’t be a mother, she could be the best aunt that ever had walked the face of the Earth.

But there were still days when Daryl saw the sadness. There were still days when he felt it. They had accepted, though, that they wouldn’t try to make those days vanish or to ignore them. Instead, they would acknowledge them together and work through them together.

Agnes hummed to herself. She reached a hand out and clasped Daryl’s hand in hers. Her hands were hard—barely more than bone, and she still had a strong grip despite what her age and small stature might suggest. Her hands were always cold, too, in the way that made Daryl want to warm them between his own out of nothing more than some pure gut instinct to do just that.

“Babies are tricky things,” she said. “And gifts to be given by someone much greater than you or me.” Daryl nodded his understanding. Agnes had never had children.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

“I have an idea, though,” Agnes offered. Daryl only had to raise his eyebrows at her and she got up from the table. He let her go and do whatever it was she wanted. When she returned, she beckoned for his hand and released cold metal into his palm. He looked at the necklace that she left there. 

“What is this?” He asked, turning it over in his hand.

“That’s a necklace, Daryl,” Agnes said.

“I know it’s a necklace. I ain’t stupid. I mean—what’s it for?” 

“That’s a gold necklace,” Agnes said. “Pure gold. It was made from gold that my father mined from his claim back in Dakota. He had it made for my mother. Back then, gold meant life. A future.” Daryl looked at it. It was simple, but beautifully made. It was a heart with an engraving. He lifted it up and squinted at it to read it. “True love endures,” Agnes offered. Sure enough, those were the words that were engraved there. “My mother wore it always,” Agnes said. “And when she died, she gave it to me. I wore it for a long time. I tried to convince myself that—I could believe it stood for the love I felt for my parents. That they felt for me. Ultimately, though, I took it off. It wasn’t right. Things, you know, have a certain kind of soul of their own, Daryl. The necklace knows what it was meant to symbolize. What it did symbolize for all those years. I always said, if I had a son, I would give it to him, for luck, so that he might find his true love.”

“I can’t take this,” Daryl said, shaking his head.

“You have to,” Agnes said. “It belongs to you. It won’t—rest—anywhere else.”

“It’s a necklace, Agnes, it don’t rest.” 

“Maybe I won’t rest, then.” 

“I can’t take it. It’s clear it means a lot to you.” 

“That’s why you have to take it.” 

“It’s somethin’ you give your family.” 

Agnes smiled at him. The bony, cold hand came across the table and pushed Daryl’s fingers closed around the gold necklace. She squeezed his closed fist.

“That’s why it has to be this way,” Agnes said. “Now—I’m too old to argue. So, you just take it and you give it your wife.” 

“Do it count?” Daryl asked.

“Does what count?” 

“If I give her somethin’ you gave me,” Daryl said. “I mean—if I don’t spend money on it, don’t that make it a bad present?” 

Agnes mused on the question.

“Is your wife someone who cares about—how much money you spend on things?” 

“Not really,” Daryl admitted. “In fact—we don’t ever talk about money. I mean…we pay the bills and occasionally we buy somethin’ here or there. But…it’s just money.” 

“Money’s just money,” Agnes echoed. “But this is about—love. Family. Tradition, Daryl. And good luck.” 

“Good luck?” 

“My parents were happily married until the day my father died,” Agnes said. “And I was happily married until my husband died. You can call it coincidence, or luck…or good choices.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Or I could say this is cursed an’ gonna kill me,” he teased. 

“I sure hope not.” 

Daryl looked at the necklace again. He turned it over in his palm. It was unique. Handmade, clearly, but the person who made it had been a master at their craft. It was the kind of piece he couldn’t have grabbed at the mall. The history behind it, he knew, could never be manufactured these days. 

“To be honest,” he said, “if one of us had to go first, I’d want it to be me. I didn’t know how damn much I wanted her in my life. How much I was missin’ her ‘fore I even met her. Now that I know it, though? I wouldn’t wanna live even an hour without her.” 

“It gets lonely when they leave you behind,” Agnes said. “You’ll give her the necklace. And—if you want to give her something else? Give her yourself. If she loves you like I think she does? She’ll appreciate that most of all.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Daryl asked.

“Go with her somewhere. Be with her. Only with her. In a moment,” Agnes said. “My husband and I didn’t travel enough. Even if it’s just—somewhere close by, Daryl. If you love each other, it don’t matter where you are. Give her your time. Your attention. She’ll like it best of all.” 

Daryl smiled to himself. 

“I’ll do that. Thanks, Agnes.”

“And give her the necklace. It’s been aching for a home for a long time now.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“I’ll do that, too,” he assured her. “Let me pay you in some way?” 

“You can pick me up at eight, not nine,” Agnes said. “And—you tell Carol that, when I get there, I’ma make breakfast for all of us. And I won’t hear no argument otherwise.” 

Daryl laughed to himself and nodded.

“I’ll be here with bells on,” he assured her.


	69. Chapter 69

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I did post Chapter 68 earlier, so you should read it before you read this one, if you haven’t read it already. Don’t forget to show me some love if you do read it.

I hope you enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you think! 

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“Hey—everything OK?” Daryl asked, catching Carol’s arm in the kitchen when she put her plate on the counter next to his. They would clean the kitchen soon and were only beginning to bring their plates. They’d eaten sitting all around the living room, since the kitchen table wasn’t big enough to comfortably hold all of them. 

“Yeah, fine,” Carol said quickly. “Why—is something wrong?” 

Her expression didn’t look like she was lying or trying to hide anything. She furrowed her brow at him. 

“You ain’t eat hardly enough to keep a bird alive. Agnes eat two times what you eat today.” 

Carol laughed to herself.

“I’ve been in the kitchen all day,” she said. “I started yesterday. I’m around food every day, Daryl, and the holidays it just seems like—there’s too much of it.” She shook her head. “It’s just not sitting well.” 

She looked apologetic. Daryl nodded his head. He walked over and opened up the cabinet where the spices, boxes of tea, and other assorted items went. He plucked the bottle he was looking for from the shelf and handed it over. 

“Get you a couple Tums,” he commanded. Carol didn’t argue. In fact, she looked like she thought that was an exceptional idea. She ate the Tums he offered her with more pleasure than she’d eaten any of the food during the meal. Daryl palmed a couple, himself, and chewed through them. “On second thought, I might oughta pass this around the living room.” 

Carol laughed to herself. 

“It might make everyone feel better later when Agnes tells them that between all of us, we’ve got four kinds of pie and coffee,” Carol agreed.

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“OK—OK—I’m thankful that…Shane Walsh is an asshole,” Andrea said.

“Don’t mind me sayin’ it, Sugar, but…I don’t think he deserves no spot at our thankfulness table,” Merle said.

“He does,” Andrea insisted. “More than you know.”

“How the hell you figure that?” Merle asked.

“Because if he hadn’t been an asshole,” Andrea said, “I would’ve been with him that night instead of sitting alone at Salty’s. And I wouldn’t have met you.” 

Daryl smiled to himself when he saw his brother’s face run red. Even though they’d lit the living room with nothing more than enough candles to nearly equate a four-alarm fire, it was clear that Merle was blushing. 

“Well—I’m thankful that’cha let me sit with you,” Merle said. “You was damn near set on fightin’ my ass tooth an’ nail that night.” 

“You were just so persistent,” Andrea offered.

“My turn,” Daryl said. “I’m thankful—for one-night stands that…turn into whole life stands.” 

A ripple of laughter ran through everyone.

“I’m thankful that, sometimes, I do things that…are entirely out of character for me,” Carol said.

“Hear, hear,” Daryl offered, though they were toasting with nothing more than the last bits of warm coffee that they’d used to wash down dessert.

The kitchen was clean. The food was divided and packed up to send leftovers with everyone. The majority of it, despite her protests, had been packed to go with Agnes. Carol had figured that she’d get the most use out of some preprepared meals, so she’d served each of the plates into a mini-meal and covered them with foil before stacking them up. The rest of them, Carol had argued, were all looking worse for the wear thanks to their over-indulgence in a happy holiday season, and it would be a gift to them if Agnes saved them from themselves—and from standing in the kitchen eating turkey out of the fridge at two in the morning.

Now they were all relaxing. The evening was winding down. And Carol curled warmly into the crook of Daryl’s arm as she snuggled into him while they passed time talking about things for which they were thankful—a better meaning for the holiday, Daryl and Merle had decided, than the grim truth of the history of it all. 

The only thing that let Daryl know for sure that Carol hadn’t dozed off a time or two was that she hadn’t spilled her coffee cup. 

“I’m thankful for—surprises,” Andrea said. “Beautiful, wonderful, surprises.” 

Her face ran red at her own words, and Daryl saw Merle nod his head in Andrea’s direction and offer her a wink. 

“Never did like surprises,” he mused. He laughed when Andrea looked like he’d splashed her in the face with cold water. “Not before,” he added with another wink. “I’m—growin’ rather fond of ‘em now.”

“Merle, you’re an asshole!” Andrea barked. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly, directing it toward Agnes.

Agnes laughed. She was sitting on the edge of her sofa cushion, leaning into the conversation. She appeared, in Daryl’s opinion, to be having the time of her life. 

“I’ve known a few assholes in my time,” Agnes insisted. “Been known to be one, myself, when the time was right.” 

Everyone laughed at her words.

“What about you?” Carol asked. “What are you thankful for?” 

Agnes thought for a moment, and then she smiled in their direction, catching Daryl’s eye.

“I’m thankful for family,” Agnes said. 

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Daryl scrubbed at his eyes. The only light was that which was pouring through the crack where the bathroom door hadn’t been entirely closed. The light was sufficient to somewhat burn his eyes that had adjusted to the complete darkness of deep sleep. After a moment of disorientation where his dream world bled into his reality, Daryl looked at the clock. It was three-thirty in the fucking morning on a…what day was it? Tuesday. It was Tuesday. Very, very, very early on Tuesday.

“What the fuck?” Daryl muttered to himself.

Carol was out of the bed and he could be relatively sure it was her that had gone to the bathroom. He felt odd, though. Normally he didn’t miss her when she went to the bathroom, but he had the strange gut feeling of missing her—like missing her had been what had woken him from his sleep. He also knew that Carol never turned the light on to go to the bathroom. She peed several times a night, and sometimes he heard her padding back to the bed, but she always did it in the dark.

He reached a hand over and brushed his fingers over her pillow. Then, he brushed them over her side of the bed. The sheet was cold—the type of cold that said it had been unoccupied for a while. 

Daryl jolted, slightly, with a cold kind of fear and concern that seemed to freeze everything his veins. When he heard an unmistakable retch, his chest tightened again in response. 

He scrambled out of the bed.

“Carol?” He called.

“I’m fine,” Carol called out as Daryl reached the bathroom door. The retching he heard that followed made him involuntarily cringe. “Don’t come in!”

One more retch—a moment later—made Daryl determined to go in.

He found Carol on her knees in front of the toilet. Her arm rested on the toilet and her head rested on her arm.

“You know—you don’t listen well,” she offered. She laughed to herself despite her obviously bad situation.

“I’m just good at ignoring bullshit,” Daryl said. He went to the sink and ran some water. Grabbing the rag from the side of the tub, he wet it and squeezed out the excess water. He brought it and mopped the back of her neck immediately. She groaned in pleasure. 

“I really don’t want you to see me puking,” Carol said.

“I really don’t care,” Daryl said. “What the hell’s goin’ on? It’s three-thirty in the mornin’.” 

“Food poisoning?” Carol said.

“I eat what you eat,” Daryl said.

“Maybe I’m just more delicate than you are,” Carol said with a laugh. 

“Your stomach’s been bein’ an ass for a lil’ while now,” Daryl said. 

Carol groaned and straightened back up, arching her back with the clear movement of someone who’s about to be sick again. Daryl immediately rubbed her back. 

“Go on,” he said. “Better out than in.” 

“Please go away,” Carol said, struggling to get the words out. “I don’t want you…to…”

“I seen people puke before,” Daryl offered. “Hell—I grew up with Merle. Been puked on. Puked on him plenty of times. And that’s bein’ drunk an’ done it to yourself kinda puke. Go ahead, Carol. I don’t care. I’d rather be here than out there.” 

She finally accepted that he wasn’t leaving. Either that or her need to throw up overpowered her need for him not to see her be sick. At the end of it all, though, she was doing little more than a painful looking kind of dry heaving—the kind he was sure was going to leave her ribs and sides sore the following day.

“You ready to try to—go to bed?” Daryl asked, rinsing her rag again while she wallowed her face around on her arm and closed her eyes like she might just sleep in the floor, hugging the toilet.

“Mmm mmmm,” Carol hummed.

Daryl mopped her face clean with the cool water and rinsed the rag again.

“It ain’t food poisonin’. I eat everything you eat.”

“Gastritis,” Carol said. “Probably. Something like that. Gastritis. Too much rich food. Halloween. Thanksgiving.” 

“It’s been a week and like almost a half since Thanksgivin’,” Daryl said. “Don’t you think you digested what lil’ bit you ate by now?” 

Carol laughed to herself. She’d relaxed, on the floor, with her head on her arm on the side of the toilet. Her eyes were closed, and Daryl made up his mind that he’d let her fall asleep there and carry her to bed if he had to. If she was ready to sleep, it was better to let her drift off where she was comfortable. He set about cleaning her up while she gave him the same power she might have if she’d been an actual ragdoll.

“Been cooking at work, too,” Carol said. “The demand for—festive treats has been ridiculous. We’ve been taste testing everything. Then, coming home. Eating everything. Too much. I need—healthy food. Something…not holiday.”

Daryl laughed to himself. She was almost clean, and she was drifting off, though he knew she’d insist otherwise if he asked her to go to bed.

“What’cha want?” Daryl asked. “What healthy food you want?”

“Mmm…not hungry now. I feel sick.” 

“No,” Daryl said. “You sick right now. Not hungry. You wouldn’t be. But—somethin’ good for tomorrow. For later. Healthy. Good for like cleanin’ all that sugar and fat an’ stuff outta your gut. What’cha think?”

“Fruit,” Carol said. “Vegetables.”

“You want some fruit and vegetables? Hell—we can do that.”

“Oranges,” Carol said. 

“Get you a whole bag,” Daryl offered. “Good for you. Vitamin C. Other vitamins, but I don’t know which ones. You think you oughta—see your doctor about this stomach thing?”

Carol opened her eyes to him as he worked himself into a position to unfold her and lift her from her spot. 

“You’ll hurt your back,” she protested quickly.

“Not if you work with me,” Daryl said. “I been liftin’ things my whole life. I know how to lift with my legs. Only get hurt if you fight against me—so work with me, like you promised you’d do when you married my ass.” 

Carol laughed at him, but she didn’t protest and she didn’t fight him. She curled into him and he lifted her. Once he was straightened up, he readjusted his hands. 

“I got you,” he assured her when he felt her tense. He leaned, letting her flush the toilet—not that she’d ever produced anything worth flushing while he’d been there. It was clear that she was simply feeling like throwing up more than she was actually throwing up. “You think you—oughta see someone about the gastritis?” 

“It’ll be fine if I can just—make smarter choices.” 

Daryl hugged her against him. He lingered, a moment longer than he had to, simply holding her. He slowed his steps to the bed on purpose. He put forth effort, for just a moment, to memorize the weight of her body in his arms—much the same way as he sometimes told himself he was memorizing what she felt like wrapped in his arms at night.

He didn’t understand the compulsion—because that’s what it felt like to him—but he accepted it.

He lowered her into the bed and she pulled him against her, hugging him. He let himself be hugged and then moved to kiss her. She pushed him away.

“I was sick,” she said.

He laughed to himself.

“I promised to love you in sickness and in health,” he offered. “And I meant it.” She gave him a warning look, but allowed him a tight-lipped kiss. He pulled the blanket up for her and she thanked him as he turned off the bathroom light and stood still, for just a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness before he attempted to navigate his way to his side of the bed. “You never have to thank me,” he offered. “And startin’ tomorrow, we’ll just…make smarter food choices. Besides, a lil’ bit of a diet wouldn’t hurt neither one of us, and you’ll wanna be right for Christmas.”


	70. Chapter 70

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl sat on the tailgate of his truck and smoked a cigarette while he scrolled through his phone. He ignored the cold—it didn’t really bother him and, honestly, he found it kind of refreshing. The wind he could have done without, but he understood that rarely were things perfectly to anyone’s liking.

He had chosen to have lunch by himself today, in the parking lot of the business where he’d just finished up a small job, because he wanted some time to think and to look up a few things without the incessant chatter of his brother, Axel, or even Tyreese.

Carol had been suffering from some kind of a general malady. She got up every day or, if she hadn’t really slept the night before, she gathered herself together, and she went to work. Jacqui reported, because Daryl inquired, that her work hadn’t suffered much for the fact that she’d almost given up on getting a solid night’s sleep. 

The general malady had included a generally unwell stomach and fatigue, really, more than anything. Daryl was willing to cede that the fatigue came from the fact that, more often than not, Carol’s stomach decided to drag her out of the bed when she would have been better off sleeping. 

The stomach issue, though, was one that was beginning to bother Daryl. Soon, he was going to force Carol to the doctor himself, if he had to wrap her in Christmas lights and garland under the ruse of being very bad at decorating their house and drag her there in a Christmas-themed bundle of complaint.

The stomach trouble had been explained to him as everything from a stress-induced ulcer brought on by the holidays and a great deal of things going on around her, to food poisoning, to gastritis, to something possibly akin to motion sickness caused by a slight case of vertigo that may have been contracted thanks to the overall lack of sleep.

Daryl could handle all of those things. It wasn’t the stomach problem, itself, that bothered him. He would gladly serve Tums all day long, force sips of water and broth every time he thought of it, and keep Carol swimming in the oranges and wheat toast smeared with a touch of peanut butter that seemed to make up the biggest part of her diet these past few days. He would stay up with her and rub her back, offer her cool rags, and ignore her protests that she hated for him to see her in a less than flattering light. He didn’t mind any of that—not in and of itself. 

What he couldn’t handle was the gnawing concern that it wasn’t food poisoning, gastritis, or even some kind of strange curse put on her by an unnamed enemy. Daryl was worried that the stomach problems, random as they sometimes seemed to be, were indications of something much more serious. 

He sat on the tailgate of the truck, taking his time with his lunch and then with his cigarettes, and read about all the possible problems that could cause random spurts of sick stomach. For the most part, he kept tripping over Carol’s offered over illnesses—the things she claimed were, more than likely and almost absolutely, to blame for her hours of discomfort. 

There was one, though, that kept popping up near the top of his links whenever he entered a new search or refreshed the old one to see if science had come through with some breakthrough in the past three to five minutes. He kept looking at it. He kept considering it. And every time he did, his stomach felt a bit like jelly. He kept trying to dismiss it as much as Carol did, but he finally clicked on it.

Daryl almost immediately fell down an internet rabbit hole. He lit himself another cigarette, absent-mindedly, while he clicked on everything from legitimate medical pages, to Wikipedia pages, to even a personal blog or two. His stomach twisted and wobbled inside him as he read. 

Finally, he sent a text to Andrea, asking for her friend’s number, and asked her not to say anything to Carol—disguising his request as some sort of preparation for a holiday surprise for Carol. As soon as he was in possession of the number, he made the call, asking for a short audience, and when he was told how quickly the woman could be available and how long it would be before she was available again when the window had passed, Daryl put in a call to Tyreese to spread his afternoon appointments out to others if they couldn’t be moved to the next day. Daryl was so reliable that, thankfully, Tyreese didn’t ask any questions or lodge any complaints. 

Receiving his own confirmation and sending a confirmation to Alice that he was on his way, Daryl put up his tailgate and headed toward the hospital. He did his best to ignore the thundering in his chest over the possibility that he was daring to consider.

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Daryl brought the doctor her fast-food order. It was the least he could do if he was going to monopolize her break time with his questions. She sat on the tailgate of his truck just as naturally as he normally did, ignoring the cold. Out of something like respect, Daryl let her get halfway through her burger and fries before he began speaking—she’d guarded silence except for the offered thanks that she’d given when he’d passed her the bag of food, and her assurance that she had no qualms about dining on a tailgate in the hospital parking lot.

“I guess you wonderin’ why I’m here,” Daryl said.

“Well, I figured out by now that it isn’t an emergency,” Alice offered. “Otherwise, you’d be frantic.” 

“I know you’re a friend of Carol’s,” Daryl said. “And you’re a doctor. I’m in need of both.”

“Sounds like you’ve come to the right place,” Alice said. “If there’s an apple pie in here—you’re more than welcome to come whenever.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“You asked for it,” he said. “So, it’s in there.” 

“What’s on your mind?” Alice asked.

“You’ll keep it between us? Let me handle it?” 

Alice laughed to herself.

“Since you started dating Carol, she’s been the happiest I’ve literally ever known her to be—since the day I met her,” Alice said. “Unless whatever you’re about to say to me is like—something I can’t even predict? I’m going to let you handle it.” 

“OK. Well, do you think it’s possible that someone could just decide that somethin’ is wrong with them and…well…even if that ain’t the problem, they can just hold onto it and believe it is?” 

Alice furrowed her brow at him and Daryl shook his head.

“I’m sorry, that didn’t come out like I wanted,” he admitted.

“I’m not a psychiatrist anyway,” Alice said. 

“I’m not a mechanic, either,” Daryl said. “But I can diagnose some of your basic car problems.”

“Touché,” Alice said. “I mean—unless you want to be a little more specific with me, all I can say is sure. People can decide there’s something wrong with them, even if there isn’t, and they can’t be convinced otherwise. It happens. Is—there something Carol’s convinced is wrong with her?” 

Daryl took a cigarette from his pack and lit it. Alice caught his arm before he could put the pack away.

“Can I have one of those?” 

“You smoke at a hospital—as a doctor?” 

“Sometimes,” Alice said. “Takes the edge off. You judge?” 

Daryl laughed to himself, shook his head, and offered her a cigarette.

“No,” he said. “I don’t got time or energy to judge anybody. Listen—I don’t know how to say it except to come out and say it, and you already said you’ll keep things to yourself, so…”

“Doctor friend confidentiality,” Alice said with a laugh. “Thanks,” she added as soon as Daryl lit the cigarette for her.

“Carol thinks she’s got menopause.” 

“And you don’t think so?” Alice asked after a moment.

Daryl opened his phone and looked at the note he’d typed.

“I googled the symptoms,” he said. “She’s got problems with her period which is at the top of the list. But she ain’t had no problem with…” He paused. He felt a little uncomfortable, but the woman on the tailgate was wearing scrubs and had an official hospital name tag. She was a doctor, Carol’s friend, and a lesbian besides. Daryl figured she could probably stomach some light discussion of menopause and other women-related symptoms. “She ain’t had no problem with—dryness. I wouldn’t say she’s got no real hot flashes or chills that they had there. I mean sometimes she’s cold and sometimes she ain’t but…she’s been kinda moody, they got that much, and she says she’s gained weight.” 

“You haven’t noticed?” 

“I like her body,” Daryl said. “I mean—if she’s gained weight it’s a little bit, but…not so I’m complainin’. Her tits have gotten a little bigger. And they’re sore as hell if you catch ‘em wrong.” 

“So, you don’t think it’s menopause.” 

“Do you?” Daryl countered.

“It’s not my specialty,” Alice said. “I get the feeling you’ve got more cards you aren’t showing, so I’d like to see those before I’m expected to make some kind of diagnosis. Why does Carol think she’s menopausal?” 

“She got her period about—damn near two and a half months ago, now.”

“That’s not unusual in women,” Alice said with a snort.

“No, and it weren’t before when she got it. But this time when she got—two and a half months or so ago, I mean, it was short. Like it was comin’ an’ then it was already goin’.” 

“Like a few days?” 

“Like—two,” Daryl said. “Maybe three. But it weren’t nothin’ like it had been before. We were watchin’ it pretty close because we thought…we might want a baby.” Daryl watched Alice’s face. She raised her eyebrows a half a second in shock or surprise, but he saw no disapproval there. She nodded her head as soon as the information had settled in for her.

“OK,” she said. “You might want a baby or…you do? Carol hasn’t really ever talked about babies with me too much before. That’s more of a…it’s probably more of something she’d discuss with Andrea or Michonne. From what I hear from Andrea, though, it seems to be in the water.” 

“It’s in the water for Andrea alright. And—it ain’t that we might want one. It’s that we do,” Daryl said. “We both do. So—we were watchin’ her period. Hopin’ to…get a baby. And then that happened and Carol said it was menopause, and that meant…you know. No babies.” 

Alice laughed to herself.

“I mean—menopause means no babies,” she said. “That’s not wrong, but…” She shook her head. “Menopause doesn’t work like that.”

“What do you mean?” Daryl asked.

“Well, I’m an OBGYN like you’re a mechanic,” Alice said, “so this isn’t my area of expertise, but menopause isn’t complete from one period to another. It’s not instant. And some women have babies while they’re going through menopause. Some even end up with twins and things like that because their body kind of goes haywire. It’s like this emergency rush to—you know—make a baby—or as many as possible. Before the clock runs out. You say that Carol’s had a period since you were dating? Like a real period? You know it was a period?” 

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

“It was what I woulda called a period,” he said. “I mean I don’t really have too much to compare it to, but…”

“Heavier than the three-day thing?” 

“Way on,” Daryl said.

“I’d say to get a second opinion, but…I don’t think it’s menopause,” Alice said. 

“There could still be a baby?” 

“I think so…”

“Is it possible that Carol could…be pregnant?” Daryl asked. His stomach practically turned inside out just at the possibility. It felt oddly overwhelming. He was afraid to hear Alice’s response. He knew what he hoped, but he also knew that he didn’t want the plummet into reality if he let himself get too high up before she told him he had totally read things wrong. “She’s got more of the symptoms I found for that one…so I just kinda want to know your opinion. Is it possible?”

Alice smiled to herself and shrugged her shoulders. 

“Have you—had sex with Carol?” Alice asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Of course,” Daryl said. 

“Then—it’s possible that she could be pregnant,” Alice said. “I mean it’s really not more complicated than that, Daryl. If you’ve had sex with her, then the possibility is there. Have you had sex without protection?” Daryl simply nodded. “Then that makes it a lot more likely.”

Daryl’s heart was pounding.

“That don’t tell me much more than I knew when I got here,” Daryl said. “Except—it sounds like she probably can’t have menopause.” 

“She could,” Alice said. “I just don’t think it’s quite as cut and dry as all that. It’s not a fertile today, barren tomorrow kind of thing.” 

“But you don’t know if she’s pregnant?” 

“Not without a blood sample or a urine sample,” Alice said.

“What should I do?” 

“You should take a couple deep breaths,” Alice said with a laugh. “And then, you should—go and buy a test. Buy a couple, actually, just in case one’s faulty or something. They aren’t an exact science, but they’re pretty reliable. Then you should—talk to your wife.” 

“What if she won’t take it?” 

“She wants a baby?” Alice asked. Daryl nodded. “You want a baby?” Daryl nodded again. Alice smiled. “Then—I’m sure you’ll find a way to talk her into it. She’ll need to make an appointment with her doctor—the sooner the better—depending on what those tests say. Maybe you could remind her of that.”

“You won’t tell anyone I asked you about this?” Daryl asked.

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Alice said. “But—I do expect to be one of the first ones you tell.”

“And if she ain’t?” Daryl asked.

Alice shrugged.

“Then, I’ll wait.”


	71. Chapter 71

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl stood in the drug store aisle and looked at the almost dizzying amount of pregnancy tests available. It was, to him, overkill. 

It was also daunting and confusing, and it almost made him irrationally angry because all he wanted was something simple and reliable that he could take home to Carol. 

Daryl wandered the aisles of Christmas decorations and drug store presents to find someone stocking the shelves. She was the first person who was accessible to him and also looked old enough to have any business knowing about things like pregnancy tests. He cleared his throat a few times as he pretended to look at one item or another and screwed up his courage to finally get her attention.

“Can you—help me?” 

The woman smiled at him. She was one of those people who was genuinely happy with her job despite the fact that she probably didn’t have the greatest paycheck or benefits, and she was also probably suffering under the strain of the upcoming holiday demands and the overall bad attitude of everyone who preached love, joy, and kindness—as long as they didn’t need something from someone whose paycheck came from serving them.

“I’ll try,” she said, her voice sing-songy. Daryl couldn’t help but smile to himself. He wished it was customary to tip people who stocked shelves and helped you find things you needed. 

“I need—somethin’ for my wife.” 

The woman immediately left her post of stocking shelves and wiped her hands on her pants—more than likely to rid them of the glitter that seemed to be everywhere these days. 

“Getting Christmas shopping done early?” 

Daryl laughed to himself. Her enthusiasm was contagious.

“Nah,” he said. “I need—a pregnancy test for her.” 

The woman’s whole demeanor lightened even more, though Daryl might have suggested such a change was impossible. 

“Congratulations!” 

Daryl shushed her and held his hand up. In Living Springs, there was always a chance you might bump into someone you knew. She laughed to herself and quietly apologized.

“Might not be no congratulations,” Daryl said. “We don’t know yet. That’s kinda why the hell I need the test.” 

“They’re in the feminine hygiene aisle,” she said.

“I know that,” Daryl said. “A whole damn wall of ‘em. That’s why I need the help.” 

She seemed to understand and hopped to something like action. Daryl followed her around the maze of half-put-out Christmas baubles and odds and ends. When they reached the wall of pregnancy tests again, Daryl stared at the woman.

“We’ve got—everything,” she said. “More economical to more expensive. We’ve got—different kinds of handles and read-outs. What are you looking for?” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“I married the woman of my dreams,” Daryl said. “Hell—even more than my dreams. Every damn fantasy I ever had come to life. And we wanted us a baby. We weren’t even gonna be greedy ‘cause we figured we waited too long for the whole two point five kids thing. Just one kid’ll do it. And then we thought there weren’t gonna be one—not ever. But now? There might be one. Right now. And I don’t give a shit if it’s two dollars or ten dollars. The only thing I care about is that—it don’t lie to us. I can deal with us havin’ to find out that there ain’t no baby, but I don’t want it to lie to us so—so she gets built up just to get torn down. You know?”

The woman smiled at him. She nodded her head, perused the rows of tests, and finally selected one. She handed it to Daryl.

“I’ve never used it, but this one is pretty popular. I think they’re pretty reliable and they’re really easy to read. See? Right there? It just says it for you. Pregnant or not pregnant. There’s not a lot of guess work.” 

Daryl turned it over in his hands. His hands were shaking, and he recognized that, but there was nothing he could do about it. This simple little thing that he was going to buy in the drugstore—a piece of plastic in a cardboard box that could have just as easily been a toothpaste box—would decide so much about their future. This simple little thing could totally change the way that their evening—and their whole life together—would go. 

Daryl’s stomach was made entirely out of jelly, as were his knees, and his heart pounded solidly in his chest.

“I’ma need two,” he said, almost feeling frozen to the spot. The woman plucked another box from the shelf and handed it to him.

“I think, actually, there’s two in the box,” she offered.

“Don’t matter,” Daryl said. “I want—all these.” 

“Sure—they’ll ring you up. Would you be offended if I say good luck?” 

Daryl smiled to himself and shook his head.

“Thanks,” he said. “And—thanks for the help.”

“Merry Christmas!” She offered, just as bubbly as she had been before, and she started off around the aisle to get back, presumably, to stocking her shelves.

“Merry Christmas,” Daryl called out to her, letting the words follow her around the side of the aisle.

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Daryl called Carol on his way home and stopped to pick up the chicken and cheese wraps from a place downtown that she was craving. The place sold a guacamole that she liked, too, so Daryl ordered two orders of everything and some extra guacamole. He figured that the food would be gentle enough on her stomach—surely better than something spicy or too ornate—and he figured that the leftovers would keep well until the next day, when she might want to eat some more.

He also figured that it was best for her to eat as much as she possibly could when she was feeling in the mood for eating, since there were often times when she refused to put more in her stomach than a few sips of water.

If Daryl’s suspicions were correct, getting her to eat whatever she could, whenever she could, would be even more important than when he was just worried about her health after a few skipped meals.

Carol met him with kisses and thanks for the food, and Daryl kept the tests hidden, tucked inside his jacket. While Carol warmed the food and dished it out onto plates, he transferred the tests to a corner, out of the way, in the living room. He wanted her to eat before he brought things up. 

While they ate, Carol told Daryl about her day. The Christmas season working at a café seemed to be a busy time of year. They filled, in addition to what they normally served in the café, take-away orders for sweets and things for holiday parties and gatherings. Even though they were still several weeks out from Christmas, itself, they were being hired to make cookies, cupcakes, and cakes for everything from office parties to bridge group gatherings.

Daryl was distracted and, admittedly, he paid less attention to Carol’s stories than he normally did. Normally, he hung on every word—no matter how trivial—that Carol said. He committed to memory the kinds of treats she’d tried each day and how she was considering changing the menu. He paid attention to each story of disgruntled customers that she had to share with him.

Today, however, he noticed other things.

Daryl noticed how hungry she seemed. He noticed that she wasn’t being apologetic, as she had once been and which had never been necessary, for talking around her food. He noticed that she practically gobbled her food—sure evidence that she was feeling genuine hunger. He noticed that she didn’t protest when he took it upon himself to fork another of the wraps from the plate between them and transfer it to her plate.

Daryl noticed the way her eyes shown when she spoke about something good. He noticed how she always seemed to hold something of a smile in reserve, even when she was talking about something less than pleasant. He noticed the song-like quality of her voice, and he reminded himself how much he loved her voice.

He let himself imagine her singing a lullaby and humming happily to their child, her eyes shining with the happiness he was sure she would feel.

He noticed how small and delicate her fingers were—as he often did. He loved holding her hand. Her fingers were often cold and he warmed them between his own hands. His chest tightened when he imagined her hand curled around the hand of their child. He could see her, in his mind’s eye, holding onto a tiny hand as the child took some of its first adventurous steps in the world.

Daryl realized he was entirely distracted when he snapped back into his actual reality with Carol calling his name. Her brow was furrowed with concern, but still there was a hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth—she wasn’t angry at his slipping out of reality. She was amused.

“Are you OK?” She asked when he hummed at her in question.

“Fine,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Daryl nodded, but Carol looked no more convinced than he felt, honestly. “Is there something on your mind?” She reached a hand over and her cool, slender fingers curled affectionately around Daryl’s hand as it rested on the table. He smiled to himself and caught her fingers. He lifted them to his cheek and then kissed them. Carol smiled warmly at the show of affection. 

“Actually…there is somethin’ weighin’ heavy on my mind,” Daryl said. 

Carol looked concerned, but Daryl held a hand out to her to still her. He got up from his barely eaten meal and found the tests where he’d tucked them. He kept them wrapped in the bag for a moment and brought them over to the table. He sat, again, across from Carol. For a second, he hoped she’d eaten her fill because he hated to think he’d stopped her from finishing the food she’d been enjoying so thoroughly. 

“It’s been kinda a long day for me,” Daryl said. “I was worried about your stomach.”

“My stomach?” 

“You ain’t hardly been eatin’ and you been sick,” Daryl said. “I know you keep tellin’ me what it is, but I also know you ain’t no doctor. I was worried it might be time to—you know—look for a doctor.”

“Daryl…I’m fine…” Carol said.

“I was googlin’ your symptoms,” Daryl said, ignoring her. “And one explanation just kept comin’ up again and again. Now, sometimes I kind of believe in signs. Maybe it comes from too many movies and all—they’re always getting these signs about things, but…I felt it, you know? Like somethin’ in my gut that I just had to at least consider it. Carol—could you please just…try this?” 

Daryl slid the tests across the table to Carol. She unwrapped them from the plastic bag and looked at the box she took into her hands. Daryl couldn’t read her expression at the moment. She sucked in a breath and let it out as a sigh.

“Daryl—if I’m menopausal…”

“I don’t think you are.”

“You’re an expert?” Carol challenged with some amusement.

“I tell you what,” Daryl said. “If I’m wrong and it’s that you got menopause? You can—choose some way to punish me or somethin’.” 

“I don’t want to punish you. I would never want to punish you.” 

“Will you—just take ‘em? Just to see?” 

Carol frowned at the box in her hand, and the expression made Daryl’s heart hurt. 

“What if—it’s not what you want it to be?” Carol asked.

“Hell,” Daryl said, laughing nervously to himself. “Is it just me? I thought—we wanted the same thing. If it’s me makin’ you do somethin’ then…we got a hell of a lot more to talk about than…this.” 

Carol looked up at him and he could see tears puddling in her eyes, but they didn’t escape. She shook her head.

“I didn’t mean that,” she said. “You have to know I didn’t. It’s just…easier…maybe…than admitting…”

She stopped. The words had been coming out slowly, like she was choking on them, and Daryl thought he understood her struggle.

“It’s easier than sayin’ you want it,” Daryl said. “And facin’ the fact that it might not be what’cha want. What we both want.” 

Carol nodded.

“Yeah,” she admitted quietly.

“If it ain’t what we want, we’ll deal with it, right? Same as we have been. Right? It don’t change a thing except—we know for sure.” 

“I’m nervous,” Carol admitted after a moment of hesitation.

“I’ll hold your hand,” Daryl offered with a laugh.

“While I pee on a stick?” Carol asked, laughing quietly. He was happy, at least, to bring a smile to her face.

“If it’ll help, I’ll hold the damn stick,” Daryl said with a snort. 

“I think I can manage,” Carol said. “But—I really wouldn’t mind the support of…you just being there.” 

Daryl stood up from the table. Everything inside him felt wobbly and unreliable. He steeled himself, though, because Carol, he knew, was going to need it. He offered her a hand. 

“Now?” She asked.

“It’s as good a time as any.”


	72. Chapter 72

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Daryl held Carol close to him. He inhaled, allowing the breath to steady his own feelings and, simultaneously, to make him feel closer to her. Their bodies fit perfectly together. He marveled at this every time he held her like this—so close to him that they were practically one person. He was almost certain that he felt a tremor run through her. He squeezed her just a little tighter in his arms and danced her gently from side to side.

She laughed and rooted into him, rubbing her face against him in an effort to share more affection with him.

“Whatever it says,” she said softly, “promise me this doesn’t change.” 

“I can’t promise that nothin’ changes,” Daryl said. “But I can promise that nothin’ don’t change that ain’t for the better. That good enough?” 

“I’ll take it,” Carol said. She sighed and Daryl closed his eyes. 

Beside them, on the bathroom counter, four tests waited. Like an assembly line, Daryl had passed them to her and lined them up when she’d finished with them. They wanted to be certain that whatever the tests said was the majority consensus. 

Beside the tests, Daryl had put his phone with the timer set. It was ticking down the time until the maximum efficiency moment that the box had mentioned.

Once they’d washed their hands, it had seemed a waste of energy to go anywhere in the house except where they were, but Daryl knew they would simply stand and stare at the tests if he hadn’t taken Carol into his arms. 

He felt her tense when the alarm went off, and he squeezed her once more and held her instead of immediately letting her go.

“It don’t change us,” he offered. “I can promise you that. It don’t change us. Not what we got between us. Not that we love each other. It don’t change that.” 

“I can’t look,” Carol said. “I’m too scared to look.” 

“I’ll look,” Daryl assured her. He pulled away from her enough to quiet the alarm on his phone and to reach for the plastic sticks. Daryl’s hand was shaking and there was nothing he could do about it. Carol covered her eyes with her hands the moment that he’d pulled away from her, and he dropped his free arm around her to offer her what comfort he could.

It wasn’t menopause. At least, it wasn’t likely that it was menopause. Even if it was, it didn’t mean there was absolutely no chance. No matter what these tests said, there could be a chance—no matter how small—for a miracle. They could still have their miracle.

But it felt like this was one of the singularly greatest moments in their lives.

Immediately, Daryl was glad that hadn’t gotten one of the tests that he’d seen with lines to read. He was sure that his brain would have panicked and been unable to read such a test. He was sure that his hands would have fumbled and dropped the sticks as he tried to comprehend what he was seeing. He was sure that he would have doubted his own eyes.

This way, there was nothing to doubt.

And there was absolutely nothing to doubt at all.

Daryl lined up all four sticks with a shaky hand. He focused on not passing out when everything felt somehow less solid than it had ever been before.

“Oh—is it bad?” Carol asked from behind her hands. “Just tell me if it’s bad.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. He slipped his hand around Carol’s back and under her arm, hugging her around the ribcage. He picked up one of the sticks. His hand was still shaking violently. His chest felt tight as he struggled to get in more than a shallow breath. If he’d had to take even a step, his knees might have given out. He held the stick in front of Carol’s face.

“Open your eyes,” he said. “And see for yourself, Mama.” 

Daryl doubted the strength and power of his own knees, but it was Carol’s knees that buckled. Daryl was thankful he’d had the foresight to get a better hold on her and to be able to support her. She recovered almost immediately, but she’d absolutely faltered. The sound she released was a sound like she sucked the air out of all of the room, and she buried her face against Daryl’s shoulder with the cry that followed it.

Daryl didn’t try to hold back his own tears, then. He didn’t try to control the trembling. He didn’t shame himself for the hard sobs that shook his body.

He dropped the plastic stick and wrapped Carol in his arms once more, this time for an entirely different reason than before. He let her cry, and he cried with her. He didn’t rush her. He simply held her. 

They had time. 

When Carol finally pulled away from him to look at him with red eyes, he couldn’t help but smile at her. He wiped her face with his fingers and she laughed to herself before doing the same to him.

“Are you—happy?” She asked. Her voice was shaking from her tears.

“Never had much reason to believe in—blessing or miracles,” Daryl said. “Never had too damn many of ‘em in my life. Then I…met you.” 

Her chin quivered and the best smile that could make its way onto her features came out.

“So—you’re happy?” 

“Of course I’m happy, woman,” Daryl said with a laugh. “You told me it weren’t possible.”

“How can it be?” Carol breathed out.

“Some way,” Daryl said. “We got a matchin’ hand. Four aces, the way I see it. All of ‘em say the same thing. If it’s a miracle, then that’s what we got us. Are you happy?” 

Carol nodded quickly and wiped at her face and nose with her hands. Daryl thought about releasing her to grab toilet paper, but decided against it. He’d hold her at least a moment longer. Instead, he turned the faucet on with one hand so that she could wash her hands as he held to her.

“I don’t know what to do, Daryl,” Carol admitted. “I just—don’t know what to do.”

“First thing we gonna do is—wash your face up,” Daryl said. “And mine too. Can you hold onto this? Just in case?” 

Carol held onto the bathroom counter. She thought she was doing it to humor him, and maybe that was the case, but he didn’t want to take even the slightest chance that she might fall. He went for washcloths and towels. Carol allowed him to wash her face and, after he washed his own, she allowed him the kiss that he wanted—deepening it for him until it took his breath away.

“Now what?” She asked, her eyes darting back and forth as she studied his face. She was smiling now, sincerely, and Daryl’s whole body felt warm. Everything felt right.

He picked up his phone. His hands still trembled slightly, but not like they had before. 

“Now we—take a couple pictures,” Daryl said. He lined the sticks back up. He took a picture of them. “Hold that end,” he said. “Other hand.” Carol took one of the sticks in her left hand. Daryl held the other end of it in his left hand. He took a picture—both their wedding bands were visible and he showed the picture to Carol.

“Why?” She asked.

“Why not?” Daryl asked. “I want it all—every minute. To go with every other picture of every perfect minute we’ve managed to get. That OK?” 

“I want you to have—all of it. You didn’t tell me you were quite the visionary and photographer,” she teased.

“Stop,” Daryl said. “You gotta—pose for me, now.”

“Pose?” 

“Come here,” Daryl said. “This first.” 

The selfie he tried to capture of the two of them kissing didn’t turn out as perfectly as it did in his mind, but Carol urged him to keep it. It was the imperfection of it, she insisted, that made it perfect. 

“Now—stand over there. Right by the wall. Like that. That’s good. OK. Now—you gotta—lift up your shirt.”

“Why, Daryl?” 

“So we got pictures of your tummy, Carol. You know—as the baby grows.” 

“There’s nothing there, Daryl,” Carol protested.

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“That’s the point. We do it every week. Then we gonna see the difference between there ain’t nothin’ there an’ then there is. Besides—when we look back on it years from now, and when our kid looks back on it? I want ‘em to be able to see how damn happy we were from the minute that them sticks told us that they were comin’. I don’t want ‘em to ever think that, just maybe, we didn’t want this from the start.” 

“Because you felt that way?” Carol asked.

Daryl’s chest tightened again and he coughed against it. He nodded, though. He wasn’t going to hide anything from Carol. That wasn’t what this was built on. That wasn’t what he wanted it built on.

Carol smiled at him, softly this time, and unbuttoned her pants. She rolled them down just a little. She rolled her shirt up. 

“Is it OK?” She asked, resting her fingers on her stomach. She blushed. The blush would show up in the picture. She was embarrassed, maybe, displaying herself. She was willing to do it, though, because it meant a lot to Daryl and, he was sure, it would mean a lot to her, too, as she settled into things. He remembered, after all, her attempts to capture something from the last time she’d done this—something that surely hadn’t left her mind entirely, even if she wasn’t focusing on it now.

“Beautiful,” Daryl assured her, capturing the moment. 

He walked over to her before she could roll her shirt back down and he covered her stomach with his hand. His stomach fluttered. Under his palm, somewhere, there was a life that was just coming into being—a life they’d created.

Their miracle.

Daryl kissed Carol, pushing her against the bathroom wall. He was suddenly hungry for her in a way that transcended his normal desire to touch her body and to be inside of her. She rolled her hips and pressed her body against his. Her hands went around him.

He broke the kiss.

“First thing in the mornin’, you gotta make a doctor’s appointment. Get everything taken care of. I’ll take off. Go with you when they can see you.” 

It had been something that was on his mind. He’d felt he needed to say it. He saw Carol’s expression change slightly. She nodded her head gently. Her fingers dug into his sides as she clung to him, not that he was going anywhere.

“Daryl—just in case something isn’t right or…something goes wrong…”

“Nothin’ is going wrong,” he said, trying to reassure her. 

She smiled at him. She stroked his face affectionately with her fingertips. She nodded her head gently. 

“But just in case it does, Daryl, would you…”

“What’cha need?” He asked, urging her on when she broke off.

“It’s embarrassing to ask it,” she said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Don’t you never be embarrassed with me, OK? Not for anything. Hell—I don’t care. I can’t be embarrassed or…bothered…or whatever. I just—wanna know what you want. We play together, don’t we? We like it, don’t we? We’re good together. There’s no embarrassin’.” 

She searched his face with her eyes and smiled at him.

“Would you—tonight—make love to me as…the mother to your child? Just this once…just in case?” 

She was so sincere that the request couldn’t have taken Daryl’s breath away more completely if she’d managed to kick him directly in the sternum. He understood, though, that things were never promised to them. Nothing was promised to them—not even miracles.

And Carol, he knew, would always be acutely aware of that.

“Listen—I’ma make love to you. As the mother of our child. But not this one time—for the first time, OK?” 

“If something happens…” Carol said, breaking off when Daryl interrupted her.

“Then it don’t change that our child is real. Right? They exist right now. Right here. Between us. And no matter what happens? That don’t change that for now and forever, we’re parents. You and me.” Carol nodded at him and he mirrored her nod. He kissed her, focusing on drawing the kiss out so that she’d lose herself in it. He kept it going until he felt her start to relax next to him. “We’re just focusin’ on the good,” he told her when the kiss broke. “Because I didn’t believe in blessings and miracles bein’ real before I met you, Carol, but…you brought me every damn thing I could dream of so far. And damn if I don’t believe in ‘em now.” 

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” Carol said.

Daryl smiled to himself at the response his heart gave to such sincere and wonderful words. His whole body felt warm and, suddenly, relaxed. He felt practically waterlogged with love and affection for the woman in front of him—the woman that, somehow, he was lucky enough to call his own for life. 

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s see if I can’t—outdo myself and make everything just a lil’ bit better.”


	73. Chapter 73

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I’m going to give you a warning (because I’ve had at least one person inform me recently that they don’t care for my smut and, therefore, I suppose they may not be alone) so anyone can skip if they want; this chapter is very heavily “smuffy.” I’m not apologetic about it, just letting you know so that you can make good decisions for you. LOL

If you read, I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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Carol inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly with such a satisfied sigh that Daryl’s skin prickled with goosebumps.

He had hardly touched her. He’d only promised to touch her. He’d only kissed her lips and followed her to the bed where, without interest in pomp and circumstance, she’d removed her clothing for him while he’d removed his. 

Carol’s satisfied sigh was prompted by nothing more than the promise that Daryl would make love to her. It took nothing more than the anticipation of the act to make her close her eyes and wear an expression of being already lost in absolute pleasure.

And that thought, alone, sent a feeling surging through Daryl of overwhelming virility. That one sound made him feel like a man on every possible level. Carol did that for him—she made him feel like the best kind of man, a complete man, in every way possible.

And now, this beautiful, smart, funny, sexy, wonderful woman who could make him feel like everything he’d ever wanted to be or dreamed he could be was carrying his child—and the mere thought of it nearly took his breath away.

Daryl kissed her with equal parts driven hunger and inspired awe.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” Daryl said, the moment the kiss had broken, echoing Carol’s words from earlier. 

She responded to him with quiet laughter. Her fingertips danced delicately over his skin. Every touch was somehow better than it ever had been before—and he’d always loved her touch, since the first night he’d felt it. 

She nuzzled his neck, licked his skin, and sucked his earlobe. It felt like a jolt of electricity surged through his body and the goosebumps rose up again over the whole of his body.

“Leaving the lights on?” She asked, her voice a little huskier than usual.

Daryl laughed to himself.

“You wouldn’t wanna eat a fancy three-course meal in the dark. Wanna see everything.” 

Daryl didn’t see much at that moment besides the curve of her neck where it met her shoulder. He ran his tongue over the freckles that peppered her skin and bit down gently on the skin of her shoulder as a surge of arousal ran almost painfully through his body.

“You’re so hard,” Carol moaned at him. Her tone of voice and the possibly inappropriate amount of approval and amazement that she put behind the statement only made Daryl’s situation worsen slightly.

“You do it to me,” Daryl said. “Besides—don’t you give me hell about the lights. You like lookin’ as much as I do—I’ma get you a mirror so you can really watch.” 

Carol laughed, clearly appreciating his comment. She brought his face around, with her fingers, to see it better. Her pupils were dilated and her cheeks wore a decently heavy blush. 

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” Daryl muttered, just loud enough for her to hear him, but not loud enough so that she’d mistake it as a statement to which he expected response. Her cheeks ran a slightly darker pink. She raised her eyebrows at him. 

“Coming in?” She asked with a smirk.

“Not yet,” Daryl said, matter-of-factly. “I’m not done out here.”

Carol hummed at him. The hand that was holding his waist at the moment snaked around. Her fingertips brushed him. She wrapped her hand around him. She stroked him, gently, once, and he closed his eyes. 

“Are you going to make it much longer?” She asked. She wasn’t giving him a hard time. She was being sincere, and he understood her reasoning behind the question. As hard as he was, there was a very good chance that he wasn’t going to make it much longer, but it didn’t matter.

“If I don’t,” Daryl said, smiling at her a second before he continued—she smiled in response to his expression before she ever heard his words, “I’ma be honest – I got full intentions to eat your pussy ‘til I can go again.” 

Carol smiled and a breathy laugh escaped her. 

“Who am I to argue with that?” She teased.

Daryl kissed Carol again and then started his planned trek down her body. As he kissed and nibbled a slow trail down her neck, detoured to her shoulder, and traipsed back to her collarbone, she repaid his careful attention with satisfied moans and tugged at his hair, moving her body toward him and brushing against him in her attempts to touch him more.

He did not last.

But, rather than shame him when he realized that he couldn’t keep from coming, Carol pulled him to her and held him while she stroked him—milking out every last bit of his orgasm for him. He showed his thanks and appreciation with kisses in between his efforts to get his breath, and then he returned to his work with renewed energy and the determination to keep his promise to pleasure her until he was able to properly make love to her.

“Your tits are amazin’,” Daryl mused when he reached them and prepared to pay them the careful attention which they deserved and to which he thought they ought to fully become accustomed. The way that Carol squirmed in response was as much a reward for his time and effort as the simple pleasure of being allowed to lick and suck them to his heart’s content. “Tender?” 

“It’s good. So good,” Carol said, clearly struggling to voice even those words for a second. 

“Amazin’,” Daryl reiterated. 

Carol laughed quietly and broke his concentration.

“They’re just breasts, Daryl. Most people have them.” 

“But they ain’t yours,” Daryl offered. “Your nipples is darker, I think. And your breasts are bigger. Heavier.” 

“That doesn’t sound like a good thing,” Carol said with some disapproval. Daryl laughed to himself at how quick she was to be judgmental—especially of herself.

“Best thing,” Daryl said. He squeezed one gently, massaging it in his hand. Carol moaned her approval. “Gettin’ ready for—our baby, Mama. Gotta prepare. Gonna feed it. Give it every damn thing it needs. Do you know how fuckin’ incredible that is? How fuckin’ incredible you are?” 

She smiled at him. Her smile was radiant. Just like her breasts were slightly different for the existence of their little miracle, Daryl thought her smile was slightly different for the realization that it existed. He stole another kiss from her lips and lingered a moment for his tongue to play with hers. When he returned to her body, he kissed his way from her breasts down to her navel before he stopped and looked back at Carol.

“Where’s it at?” He asked. “Do you know?” 

“What?” 

“The baby,” Daryl said. “Where’s it at. I mean—more here or…?” 

“I think—more here,” Carol said, touching her abdomen with her fingers. “It’s…it feels so surreal to say this, but…it’s growing in my uterus. So—it would be here. Somewhere in here.” 

“It ain’t surreal,” Daryl said. “Just solid fact.” He leaned his head and gently kissed her fingers where they still rested. He kissed the skin around them. He licked it—he always enjoyed the sensation of her soft skin against his tongue. He liked the feeling of the downy hair that, a little further down, gave way to the courser ones. He kissed her abdomen again, letting his lips linger a long while in the spot she’d indicated while her fingers tugged at his hair and her other hand gathered up as much of the sheet as they could.

She was practically there—she’d come with only the slightest effort on his part and, if he made her wait just a bit longer to build her anticipation, she’d come hard. 

She made him believe that any man who said it was impossible to get their women to come—and he’d heard his share of men almost brag about such things—had simply never tried worth a damn. 

“Incredible,” he said with his lips close enough to her skin that they would brush her with each movement required to form the words. “You are…incredible. You’re—you’re…” He was struggling, slightly, for the words. He wanted to say everything he was thinking, but that wasn’t possible. He wanted to say everything perfectly but, really, that wasn’t possible either. She would forgive him, though, for his inability to write poetry. She would understand the intention behind the words that he did say. She would feel and sense his meaning. He knew this because of the way she responded to him, always. He knew this because he felt like he could sense her meaning most of the time—even when she didn’t say the words. “You’re growin’ our baby, Carol. Whether you thought it was impossible or not. It’s here. Right here. So close…and you’re fuckin’ incredible and beautiful and…so damn sexy…”

Carol laughed. Her stomach shook with it, even though it wasn’t a loud laugh. Daryl laughed in response simply because, as his lips had met her stomach while he’d kept them close enough to brush against her skin, her stomach met his lips when she laughed.

“You won’t think I’m so sexy when I’m—big and fat.” 

Daryl leaned up on his elbow and grinned at her. She was smiling back at him. The smile was residual from her laughter, but there was clearly mischief in her eyes.

“I’ll take that bet,” Daryl said. “Because you ain’t gonna be big an’ fat. You gonna be—big and pregnant, and doin’ every damn thing you gotta do…we gonna be doin’ everything we gotta do…to make sure our kid is the happiest, healthiest kid to get born into the world this year. And if you don’t think my ass is gonna think you’re the sexiest piece of ass in the whole damned world? Well, you don’t know me at all.” 

Daryl had been teasing. He hadn’t expected the level of emotion that suddenly crossed Carol’s face. Of course, his lunchtime google search of symptoms—which had led him to this beautiful, wonderful discovery that they were celebrating—had left him reading enough about pregnancy to know that mood swings and heightened emotions were at the very tip top of every list of pregnancy symptoms. 

He laughed to himself.

“You gonna cry about bein’ sexy?” 

She was fighting it, but her bottom lip threatened to roll out a bit more in her effort to hold back her feelings. Daryl found it oddly endearing. 

“I understand. You so damn sexy it brings a tear to my eye from time to time, too.”

Carol laughed at him, but her laughter pushed out the dragon tears that had been threatening to fall from her eyes, and they rolled down her cheeks. 

Daryl abandoned his exploration for the time being and climbed back up the bed to kiss her and take her into his arms. He held her for a moment, nuzzling against the side of her face and her ear. She squirmed her body against his, seeming to try to leech every bit of contact from him as was humanly possible. 

She kissed him passionately when he offered her his lips to taste and, for a while, they stayed like that—with no words exchanged between them—trading kisses and holding one another tight as Carol moved her body in small ways to increase the friction between them. 

She smiled at him, clearly satisfied, when she managed to pique his interest to such a degree that he grew hard again with her hand wrapped around him, fondling him. 

There were no words. There was no exchange, really, except the mischievous look in her eye and a half-grin as she curled her leg over his hip and used her hand to guide him into her. From her position, her movements were limited, but she moved her hips enough to accept him, and she did whatever magic trick she’d mastered so well to squeeze him once he was inside her. 

He leaned his head against her for a second, and she continued to do whatever it was that she’d been doing—a rhythmic, pulsing, squeeze. Daryl couldn’t stand it any longer, and he thrust his hips, pushing hard into her. She let go a satisfied sound and rocked her hips back against him. The position only allowed for relatively slow movements, but neither of them felt the need to change that. Instead, they continued to hold one another while they exchanged the slow, deep thrusts with each other, almost like volleying the sensation back and forth between them. 

Carol came first, and she came hard, though without any great fanfare beyond some precious sounds, the feeling of her fingers grabbing desperately at Daryl’s skin, and an expression of pain on her face that Daryl knew was simply one of her depictions of absolute pleasure. The sounds, the expression, and the intensification of the pulsing squeeze beyond the normal rhythm that Daryl knew she could control was enough to make him feel almost desperate. He responded to his desperation with a newfound vigor and she gladly held onto him and accepted everything he needed to release. 

Panting, he curled into her when he came and held onto her, kissing her neck in between swallows of air. 

She giggled quietly and the sound was practically musical—and contagious. 

“What?” Daryl breathed out.

“And that was, I think, a pretty good recreation of how we made our baby,” Carol teased. Daryl snorted in response.

“Mighta changed a couple details,” Daryl said. “But—the idea ain’t too far off.”


	74. Chapter 74

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I’m not sure if some people have bailed on the story, gotten overwhelmed with life, or what, but I’ll just say that I hope all is well and don’t forget to read the last three chapters if you haven’ t read those already. Otherwise, you really won’t be ready for this one. LOL 

I hope you enjoy the chapter! Don’t forget to let me know what you think! 

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Daryl thought that the doctors were being sluggish about things, but he was willing to admit that his own anticipation and anxiety might have skewed his view of things.

He didn’t understand the full details of how things went, and he was partially to blame for that since he was more of a “tell me the end result” kind of person than the kind that could focus on every little tiny piece of information that went into the progression of things, but there was some problem with Carol’s normal doctor that handled all her woman things. The doctor didn’t do babies, basically, and so Carol had to go through the process of seeking an appointment with another doctor in Living Springs that was, apparently, also Andrea’s woman doctor and came highly recommended. 

Carol was determined not to let anyone know about their baby until they knew, for sure, everything that she apparently needed to know to feel comfortable sharing the news.

Daryl, personally, had seen four good quality tests that made him feel more than confident that their little miracle was there and growing. He wasn’t sure there was much else that he needed to know, but he respected Carol’s wishes. In addition to the tests, which made him feel pretty confident about everything, he felt like there were other things that just made him that much surer that things were as they should be—and he was keeping track, for his own entertainment, armed with google and a little running in note in his phone.

His favorite thing of all was the realization that the little extra weight that Carol had put on—the weight that made her clothes just a little snug and made her declare that everything was the fault of too many snacks or, as she teasingly said to Daryl, the fact that he made her too happy and relaxed—was very likely some physical evidence of a little life taking shape.

The new doctor’s office was pretty busy and, while Daryl thought that Carol should insist that she not have to wait, they’d given Carol two appointments as soon as they claimed they had any open space. The first appointment came, and they’d simply done what the hell Carol and Daryl had done, except they’d done it on the professional level. They’d called Carol and said that, in fact, she was pregnant.

But Carol still didn’t want to tell anyone because she said there were things they needed to know first, and Daryl accepted that. He didn’t hate, after all, having a little secret that just belonged to them. Though he did tease Carol that, if things didn’t hurry up, they might be at risk of the proverbial cat getting out of the bag because it was no longer something they could contain.

His teasing, though, was mostly just that—teasing. It didn’t take too long—though it took a great deal longer than Daryl thought it should, because he’d really wanted everything to happen in the matter of days instead of almost taking a whole week—to get to the real appointment. 

The place was clean, like any doctor’s office, but it was clearly decorated to try to make the patients feel a little more at home. There were pictures of flowers on the wall, and there was the occasional photograph in frames on wooden tables around the room that, Daryl supposed, were pictures of babies that had been born to people who were patients there. The chairs were fairly comfortable and most of the staff seemed to at least be decent at pretending they liked their jobs.

They’d allowed Daryl to go back with Carol while he felt like they recorded every single detail about her body on a clipboard, and then they’d been shown to a room where Carol had changed into a paper gown and sat nervously swinging her sock-covered feet against the edge of the examination table.

Without her needing to ask, Daryl hopped up on the table next to her, put an arm around her shoulder, and pulled her to him so that she’d simply rest her head against him.

Carol was, in Daryl’s opinion, a true force to be reckoned with. He didn’t know the full spread of horrors to which she’d been subjected during her marriage with Ed. She was a little reserved when it came to telling him her horror stories. He assumed that, as time went on, he would uncover more and more about her. After all, though he felt like they’d simply been connected since forever, they’d had relatively little time to get to know one another. He knew enough, though, and he knew that Carol had been strong enough to survive that marriage. He knew that, instead of wallowing in her suffering, she’d built a whole new life for herself. She’d moved to a house in Living Springs—a nice house; their home—and she’d started a successful business. He knew that she hadn’t felt like she needed anyone to take care of her, and he was lucky that she’d even given him the time of day and the chance to win her over. She was strong, independent, and she didn’t need at him all—but she loved him, and she allowed him to love her.

She wanted him and, in Daryl’s opinion, that was actually nicer than truly needing him.

But she was also nervous, and soft in all the right places, and she allowed him to see that side of her. She let him feel her tremble and, best of all, she let him comfort her when he could. She didn’t need him to survive, perhaps, but she did need him, in her own way, and he enjoyed being needed by Carol in Carol’s way.

When the doctor came in—a woman who was maybe in her early forties—Daryl started to get down but she waved a hand at him.

“You can stay for now, if you like,” she said. She offered a hand first to Carol and then to Daryl as she introduced herself. She was doctor Caroline Martin, and one of her greatest concerns was making her patients comfortable—it was one of the reasons that her practice was relatively small—so they could feel free to tell her how they preferred certain things as she went through a little questionnaire with them.

They wanted things casual. They preferred to be spoken to in non-professional terms that explained things rather than, as they both agreed, professional terms that only made everything seem muddied and more dramatic. They liked being called by their names, but also liked the idea of affectionate titles, as they’d started practicing calling one another “Mama” and “Daddy” just a little in their own lives. 

They told her that they were, arguably, still newly married, but that didn’t mean that they didn’t love each other and weren’t sure about what they wanted. She assured them that she wasn’t there to judge them. They told her that they hadn’t realized about the baby—that Carol had believed it was menopause—or they would have come earlier, but she told them that they didn’t have to explain.

Carol told her, in no great detail, that she’d been pregnant once, before, and that the pregnancy had terminated at eighteen weeks due to trauma, they believed, brought on by an accident—and then Daryl had added that, maybe, it wasn’t too accidental. Dr. Martin had simply nodded and made a note in the collection of notes that she was taking.

As she took all of Carol’s information, and gave her a quick and superficial examination that mostly re-recorded her vitals, Daryl felt more comfortable about the fact that it had taken almost a week to find space for them in the schedule—and to promise them ongoing appointments if they needed them—because he realized that Dr. Martin had a very calming presence about her and, more than that, she made him, at least, and because he couldn’t speak for Carol, feel like she had time for them. 

“Your blood pressure was high when you got here,” Dr. Martin observed, moving the stool on which she’d been sitting earlier and making it clear that the real process was about to begin. “It’s much more what I would expect it to be, now. Does it normally run high?” 

“Just when I’m nervous,” Carol said. 

Dr. Martin smiled and nodded. 

“That’s not unusual,” she said. “And I’m assuming that some of Daryl’s presence is helping with that, so we’ll be sure to keep him close by as much as possible. May we get started? I’d like to do an examination and pap smear, and then we’ll do the sonogram.” 

Carol nodded, but Daryl could practically sense her anxiety jumping up a notch. He didn’t blame her. The thought of it—that it was really real and this would confirm it—had his heart thundering in his chest. He hopped off the table, but the doctor insisted that he stay close and that nothing she was going to do was going to inhibit him from being able to hold Carol’s hand.

Daryl did hold Carol’s hand. He held it and, from time to time, kissed her fingers. He squeezed her hand, and toyed with her fingers—thankful that it gave him something to do to keep his hands busy, his lips busy, and his mind busy.

It was hard to pay attention to everything, honestly, and he was mostly focused on the end of things.

So, he really only zoned in to hear Dr. Martin tell Carol that things looked good from a first glance. He zoned back out again—thinking about all the things they might do to celebrate—while the young technician discussed things with the doctor and got things ready for what followed. For the first little bit, the screen was turned away from them as notes were made, but they were assured that they would get to see everything as soon as the preliminary stuff was out of the way. 

And they didn’t lie.

Carol nearly broke Daryl’s hand off when the screen was turned so that she could see it and the technician declared—in tones that would have made her sound far too excited if Daryl hadn’t felt like he could actually explode from trying to keep his own excitement inside—that the baby looked wonderful. There was a head, and tiny little arms and legs, and though Daryl had prepared himself not to be able to make out a single damn thing about the baby, he could see all that.

A head—disproportionately large, but normal, they’d been assured. Tiny arms. Tiny legs.

And the heartbeat, when they turned the volume up, was the most incredible sound that Daryl had ever heard. It was fast—it sounded almost as fast as he felt like his heart was pounding—and they assured him it was just right. He was overwhelmed with the thought that it was the heartbeat of a whole human being—a whole person—that hadn’t existed before, but who existed now. It was the heartbeat of a person who had sprouted up out of practically nothing—the mixing of stuff from their bodies that they often ignored and wiped away—and was now taking up space in the world, no matter how miniscule. It was the heartbeat a tiny person that would, someday, be a person with everything that every other human being enjoyed—a real and full life. 

And they had made that. They had been granted the right to help that little life go from this to everything it could possibly be.

Carol cried—openly and freely—but neither the doctor nor the technician scolded her for her tears. She was given tissues and Daryl leaned and held her as best he could for a second until she calmed. He thought, maybe, that there was some dampness in other eyes around the room—but he was willing to admit that, maybe, the dampness had mostly been from the fact that his own vision was somewhat blurred.

When they finished, they thanked the technician, and the doctor stepped out with her a moment while Carol got dressed. Carol was so shaky that Daryl helped her, in silence, to get everything on the way that it was supposed to be. There would be plenty of time to talk—a great deal of time—but right now they both needed to simply process things and finish the appointment. The doctor returned a few minutes later, and she was carrying a number of things that she hadn’t left with initially. 

“I have some information for you,” she said, offering Carol a small bundle of papers. “This is for you to read about tests that you may consider. All testing is voluntary, and I won’t push you toward anything beyond, really, a one-hour glucose screening to see if there’s a need for further glucose testing. The information I’ve given you here will allow you to make the best decisions for you and your situation.” Carol accepted the bundle with slightly shaky hands and simply nodded her understanding. “This is a tentative appointment card. They automatically provide them based on this appointment, but you can change that at the front desk if you need to. I will tell you that we do sometimes have trouble accommodating everyone’s appointment requests, especially with the holidays coming up.”

Carol mopped at her face with the freshest tissues that Daryl had retrieved for her from the box that the doctor had let him use. She stared at the card in her hand.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, smiling to herself. “I don’t care—when they schedule it. I’ll make it happen.” 

The doctor laughed quietly at Carol’s commitment.

“Well—we’ll do our best to accommodate your schedule. You can let them know things that work best for you at the front desk. I only wanted to let you know that, since I do limit my practice a great deal, there are sometimes conflicts.” 

“If this is the way you act every time we’re here,” Daryl offered, “we’ll work around it.”

Dr. Martin smiled at him.

“I went into medicine for the people,” she said. “I’ve been pushed to change that, but so far I’m stubborn enough to withstand the pressure to change.” 

“I’ma be honest,” Daryl said, “but—I couldn’t pay attention to everything…”

“I understand that it’s sometimes a little overwhelming,” Dr. Martin assured him. Daryl nodded at her.

“It’s all like it’s supposed to be?” He asked. “It’s all OK?”

“I don’t see anything alarming at this time,” she said. She directed her words toward Carol, but she kept glancing back and forth between them. “You are classified as a geriatric pregnancy.”

“That’s kinda rude,” Daryl interrupted. The woman seemed amused.

“It’s a classification for any mother over 35. There are also reasons that you would be classified as high risk,” Dr. Martin said. “I don’t say that to scare you. I say that to let you know that we’re going to do everything we can to make sure that this pregnancy is successful and as stress free for you and your baby as we can. I don’t want you to be alarmed, however, if we ask to see you more regularly as your pregnancy advances.” 

“I didn’t get regular healthcare with my last pregnancy,” Carol said. It was almost as though she said it to herself more than she said it to Dr. Martin. She was clearly still working on processing things. 

“But she’s gonna be here every time you need her,” Daryl offered, filling in what wasn’t said.

“And if anything—any concern should arise, I want to be notified. Even though there may be some difficulty getting regular appointments shifted, I do reserve a certain amount of time for emergencies. I recognize that, sometimes, a need for peace of mind might constitute an emergency for some of my parents-to-be. Don’t hesitate to call the office if there’s something you need in between appointments.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Believe me,” he said. “We won’t. I’ma call myself if I got to.” 

Dr. Martin smiled at him.

“I appreciate seeing involved fathers,” she said.

“Daddy,” Daryl corrected. His face ran warm as, immediately, he wondered if he’d overstepped some boundary by correcting the doctor. She didn’t look miffed, though. He cleared his throat. “It’s just—father makes me think of somebody kinda…you know…cold. Distant.” 

She inclined her head, slightly.

“Do you have any questions for me?” She asked, directing the question to Carol. Carol was tight-lipped and a little pale. She was still taking it all in, and Daryl’s heart swelled in his chest as he thought that today might be one of those days where she treated him to the opportunity to really take care of her and, in doing such, to feeling entirely “necessary,” which was a feeling he relished, perhaps, a little more than he should. 

He caught her free hand and worked it in hers. She shook her head.

“No, thank you…I’m just…”

“OK?” Dr. Martin asked with a sincere amount of concern.

Carol smiled and nodded.

“Wonderful, I think,” she said, laughing to herself.

Dr. Martin seemed to accept that. She turned to Daryl. 

“Do you have any questions as a—as an involved Daddy?” She asked, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. Daryl’s heart beat harder just hearing it. 

“What should I do?” He asked. “I mean to—you know—do what I ought to do. To…help?” 

“I get the feeling you’re doing a pretty good job so far,” she offered.

“He’s wonderful,” Carol said, practically whispering the words. Daryl swallowed and squeezed her hand.

“I would say to keep doing what you’re doing. Carol’s needs are basic. Good nutrition. Adequate vitamins—and they’ll advise you on that at the front desk when you go to collect your sonogram pictures and to secure your appointment. Relaxation and rest are important. Growing a baby is possibly going to take a lot of Carol’s energy. Babies can be demanding before and after they’re born. She has to learn to listen to her body on all accounts.”

“I’ll make sure she’s listenin’,” Daryl offered. 

“Then that’s the best thing you can do.” 

They both thanked the doctor when she was done, and she told them to take their time getting ready to leave. They needed to stop by the desk, confirm the appointment and information, and pick up their pictures. Then, they were free to go.

When she was gone, Daryl stepped between Carol’s legs where she remained sitting on the table. She smiled at him.

“Hey,” he said. Her smile grew slightly. 

“Hey,” she responded.

“It’s really real now,” Daryl said. 

“Ten weeks, Daryl,” Carol said. “Andrea was eight weeks when she came and…the nurse said something to her about it. She said she was irresponsible and should have known better. She said there was no need for her to act concerned then when she clearly hadn’t been concerned before. Andrea said they fired that nurse…”

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“I know. Merle told me that Andrea was damn near devastated. He said he called and lodged a complaint—and Merle don’t usually care enough about anything to do that shit. I guess this doctor don’t play around. But—I like her.” 

“I do, too,” Carol said. “But they must think I’m awful that…ten weeks…”

She dropped her head to stare at the appointment card that she must have memorized by now. Daryl tipped her head back up.

“You ain’t awful,” he said. “And it don’t matter what the hell they think. Ten weeks is…just ten weeks. You here now. And that’s your next appointment. We ain’t changin’ a damn thing. Gonna be here with bells on the minute they say we should. But—it’s really real, now. You seen it yourself. Got a big ass head and lil’ bitty arms and legs.” He laughed to himself, remembering the image. “Kinda ridiculous lookin’ but…it’ll get there.” 

“You called our baby ridiculous,” Carol said, frowning at him. Daryl laughed to himself and kissed her.

“Don’t go gettin’ offended,” he said. “You know what I mean. Even the tech girl was sayin’ it’d sprouted some lil’ buds or whatever. Just—it’s goin’ through an awkward stage. Like a puppy or somethin’.”

Carol snorted.

“You aren’t making this much better,” she offered.

“What if I just shut the hell up, then,” Daryl said, “and take my best girl an’ my best sprout out for somethin’ good to eat to celebrate? We could hit the Dairy-O. Mama likes it an’ I hear they got a mean ass banana split to wash down a burger’n fries.” 

Carol smiled. 

“Make it a hot fudge cake sundae and you’re suddenly making this a little better,” she offered.

Daryl laughed.

“Whatever my best girl wants, she gets,” he said with a wink before offering her a kiss and tugging her hand to invite her down from the table.


	75. Chapter 75

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Carol hadn’t finished her cheeseburger and fries, but she’d given it a pretty good effort, and Daryl wasn’t going to scold. She was still visibly shaky, and she was quiet. She smiled at him, when she noticed him looking at her, but it had seemed like words just needed a vacation for a bit. Of course, Daryl had felt oddly the same way. His mind was spinning with words, but none of them seemed quite ready to get organized and come out of his mouth in a way that would make any sense at all.

They’d simply enjoyed the silence together as they ate in the truck at the Dairy-O. 

The first words they’d exchanged had been sparse and only necessary to cement the dessert order. Daryl had taken their trash and left Carol in the truck while he’d gone inside to request the dessert to share. When he got back to the truck, Carol looked a little lighter than she had before. Like him, maybe, she was starting to settle in with her thoughts.

“Look at this,” Daryl said, sliding into the truck. “This is a damn thing of beauty. And I got ‘em to load it up with cherries.” 

Carol smiled that smile that made Daryl’s heart pick up and his stomach grab. It was the smile that confirmed that he’d done something good. He’d done something wonderful. He’d done something damn near award-winning.

And all he’d done was tell them to be sure they put a whole handful of cherries on there instead of the sad little one that usually rolled down the side of the dessert creations.

“You didn’t have to do that…” Carol insisted.

“But if I hadn’t,” Daryl said, “then I’da missed out on that smile right there. And I wouldn’t have wanted to miss that for the world. You asked if you could have the cherry. Now you can have all of ‘em.” 

“You spoil me,” Carol asserted.

“You oughta be spoiled. Every damn minute of every damn day,” Daryl offered. He spooned up a big bite of the desert, careful to try to get at least a small amount of everything in the creation—complete with a cherry. He offered the spoon over in Carol’s direction. She eyed it, eyed him, and then laughed to herself.

“You’re going to feed me?” 

“Why not?” Daryl asked. “Here—before the ice cream melts.” 

“We’re in public!” Carol said. The smile she couldn’t quite swallow back didn’t say that she truly hated the idea.

“We’re at the Dairy-O,” Daryl said. “What they gonna do? Kick us outta the truck I pay for? Just one bite? It’s kind of a thing for me…”

Carol gave him a half-annoyed look that he didn’t believe for even half a second. She leaned forward, accepted the bite of food, and then hummed in satisfaction. Daryl smiled to himself and situated the bowl so they could both reach it before he offered her a spoon.

“Now I have to eat the rest myself?” She teased. “You’re setting up expectations that you’re not following through with, you know.”

“If you want me to feed you the whole thing,” Daryl said. “I will. Every bite.” 

“I know you would,” Carol said. “But—I don’t want you to. I’m teasing.” 

“I guess I know that, too,” Daryl said. “Here—get your cherries.” He rolled the ones around to her side of the bowl where they’d come tumbling down the whipped cream mountain to his side.

“You can have some,” Carol said. “I can’t eat all of these. I’m already a little full.” 

“I believe in you,” Daryl teased. “You gotta believe in yourself. Here—I’ma help you out. I’ll eat this one.” 

And, just like that, whatever moment they’d both been going through where words had simply seemed to freeze between them had passed. There was no tension in the truck cab at all now. They ate ice cream in silence, but it was a different kind of silence. It wasn’t the silence that came when brains were too busy. It was the kind of silence that happened when brains realized they didn’t need to be busy. There was no need to look for the right thing to say. When they had something to say, they would say it—and, somehow, it would be right.

“Mmmm…I can’t eat anymore,” Carol said, finally swallowing what she’d clearly deemed her last bite and nudging the bowl that Daryl was holding in his direction. “I mean it. I’m done.”

“You OK?” He asked. 

“I’m fine,” Carol said quickly. “Just—that’s it, you know? I won’t feel fine if I even eat one more bite and…I don’t want to ruin how I feel right this minute.”

“That ain’t what we want at all,” Daryl agreed.

“It was good, though.” 

“It’s a start,” Daryl said.

“You’re still hungry?” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“No. I’m actually—like you said—I’m just about to the point where I gotta toss this in that trash can over there ‘cause I’ma be sick if I keep on eatin’ it. What I meant was it’s a start to celebratin’, but it’s just a start. We got so damn much more celebratin’ to do.” 

“You don’t have to make a big deal…” 

“You don’t want a big deal?” Daryl asked. He could hear some hesitancy in Carol’s voice, but there was something going on there—that much was clear. He could see it around her brows. He held a finger up. “I’m gonna throw this in that trash can, OK? But—I wanna hear you. So, don’t think I’m tryin’ to…get outta the conversation or nothin’, OK?” 

She smiled to herself, a bit more tight-lipped than before. She nodded her head gently.

Daryl quickly tossed the ice cream, wiped his hands on the few remaining napkins and tossed them, and lit a cigarette before he got back in the truck and rolled down the window to keep the smoke from bothering Carol—immediately aware that such a thing might bother her, now.

She was simply waiting on him, patiently. 

“Now—I was askin’ if you were sayin’ like for real you don’t wanna make a big deal, or were you sayin’ it like well, we don’t gotta make a big deal, but you really do wanna make a big deal?” 

“Can I tell you the truth?” 

“I hope to hell you always do,” Daryl said.

She seemed to be screwing up some courage, so Daryl gave her a moment. It was long enough for her to get side-tracked a little.

“Aren’t we going home?” She asked.

“You cold?” Daryl asked.

“Not really,” Carol said.

“Then we’ll sit here a minute or two,” Daryl said. “I wanna hear the truth, and I can pay more attention to it if I’m not tryin’ to drive, too. Go ahead. What do you need to tell me?” 

“It’s not so much that I need to tell you this as…it crossed my mind.”

“I can’t wait to hear it.”

“I don’t want you to be—upset. Or offended.”

Daryl’s stomach rolled slightly, but he reminded himself that they had promised each other honesty and as much transparency, as it became relevant, as they could possibly have between them. They shared everything, no matter how difficult or embarrassing it was, as it came up. If he put limits on things just because his feelings might get hurt a little, then they would be starting down a slippery slope toward not telling each other the whole truth, and Daryl didn’t want that.

This relationship was fairly new and they still had a great deal to learn about each other. Some of that, without a doubt, was going to be at least a little messy on both sides.

“I won’t,” Daryl said. He teasingly offered her his hand, pinky outstretched. “Here—I’ll pinky promise you. You can say whatever’s on your mind. I want to hear it.” 

“When I—found out before? That I was pregnant?”

Daryl’s stomach clenched hard and his pulse quickly picked up. Carol was about to tell him something about the last time, and he knew that nothing she had to say about that would likely be easy—not for her to say nor for him to hear. 

He didn’t let her in on his feelings. Not right now. His discomfort, he knew, came only from not liking to imagine her suffering, but he didn’t want her to think that was a reason to hide even the smallest part of herself from him. He hummed to acknowledge her words and keep her going.

“Ed was excited, at first. Right in the beginning. For just a moment, almost, it was like—it’s what he wanted. Everything he could possibly imagine he wanted. He wanted to be a father.”

“But somethin’ changed that?” Daryl asked.

“I guess,” Carol said. “I mean, honestly, I don’t know exactly what changed that. Maybe everything changed it.” 

“Everything?” 

“The appointments meant that doctors would see me often and, Ed didn’t like people minding his business.” 

Daryl swallowed against the feeling that tightened his chest and throat. 

“You mean he didn’t like people commentin’ on the fact he was beatin’ his wife.” He lit another cigarette. 

“Something like that,” Carol said softly. “But—there was more.” 

“Like what?” 

“It’s a lot,” Carol said. “I mean—I think I changed. My personality changed. He said I changed. I was—moody.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“So? Who cares? Hell—I’m moody an’ I don’t even got the excuse of…of makin’ a whole fuckin’ person. Do you realize that? Like today on that screen? That’s a whole person. Just—it’s just there where it weren’t before and we did that. We started it. I guess. You’re doin’ it, but…”

“But I couldn’t do it without you,” Carol offered, her hand coming over and catching Daryl’s free hand. She squeezed his hand and he realized, in that instant, how much he needed and wanted that touch. He squeezed her hand back. “You’re not moody,” Carol said after a moment. Daryl laughed to himself.

“I can be,” he said. “But go ahead. So, he didn’t like somethin’. He didn’t like that you got moody.” 

“My body changed,” Carol said.

Daryl bit back the natural reaction that bubbled up in him. He thought he did well to not even make a face. He didn’t like the idea of Ed having anything to do with Carol’s body—not in any way, shape, or form. He accepted it as fact, but he didn’t like to think about it. 

He squeezed Carol’s hand. 

“Gotta change,” Daryl said. “It’s doin’ big shit—but big shit. Growin’ a whole person. Keepin’ it safe. Givin’ it food and everything. Turnin’ it into everything it’s gotta be and, hell, gettin’ ready to keep on takin’ care of it when it gets here ‘cause you’re gonna be one of them good Mamas. Them damn good Mamas.” 

Carol smiled to herself. 

“But it’s not all sexy, Daryl, and—it’s not all very attractive.” 

He could hear the genuine concern in her voice.

“Everything about you is sexy,” Daryl said.

“I’m being serious, Daryl,” Carol said. 

“Me too! I’d be all over your ass right now if it weren’t for the fact that you’d say ‘oh, Daryl! Get off me, we’re in the parking lot of the Dairy-O and someone’ll see your naked ass stuck up against the window!’”

Carol snorted and quickly covered her mouth.

“Is that what you think I sound like?” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Not really,” he admitted. “But it was there, and I used it. My point is—I think you’re sexy. I think everything about you is sexy. Even the shit that you’re like—this ain’t sexy. I been watchin’ you throw up half the night for a while ‘cause I don’t wanna leave you to throw up on your own. You told me that weren’t attractive.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re about to say it is…”

Daryl finished his cigarette and rolled up the window. He laughed to himself and cut his eyes at her playfully. 

“I thought you accepted my—kinks or fantasies, or whatever the hell you wanna call ‘em.”

“I do,” Carol said. “Just like—you accept mine. But are you going to tell me that’s a thing for you now? You think me throwing up is attractive?” 

“Maybe it ain’t attractive, but it ain’t like—it don’t change nothin’,” Daryl said. “I don’t know how to say what I want to say. I don’t give a shit. You throw up. People do that. Now we know why, but even when we didn’t? I didn’t care about shit except I hated you was sick. You told me that I wouldn’t think you were attractive while you were on your period. Hell—the fuck did it change? Just means we gotta get a couple towels and take a hell of a shower afterward to not look like we’re both part of a murder scene. My point is—shit’s gonna change. I get that. It’s gonna change any damn way. One day? My dick prob’ly ain’t gonna work one damn bit an’ my ass is gonna be wrinkled and shit. Does that mean you ain’t gonna love me?” 

“I’m always going to love you,” Carol said. She laughed to herself. “Even if—your dick doesn’t work and your ass is wrinkled.”

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

“So—so let me love you just the same. All the time, just like I want to. Like I do.” 

“I guess I just…was thinking about it,” Carol said. “And—I don’t want you to think that I’m comparing you to Ed…I know you’re innocent of his crimes, and I don’t mean to say…”

“But you know what you know,” Daryl said, interrupting her. “At least until you learn somethin’ different. And—you’re scared that things are gonna be what the hell you know. And I’ma want to celebrate for a while and then…”

Carol nodded when Daryl broke off, unable to say anything more, really, to finish what he was meaning to say.

“Are you angry or…hurt or…?”

“No,” Daryl said, realizing it was the truth. “I’m just thinkin’ you only know what you know. And I got a lot to teach you.” 

“It’s not your job, Daryl, to answer for everything that Ed ever did. It’s not your job to try to undo all of that.” 

“No, it’s not my job,” Daryl said. He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers. “It’s my choice. And it ain’t like all this shit is one-sided. Because every damn thing good I do for you? You always make sure that it all comes back on my ass ten-fold. Hell—I’m practically bein’ selfish. I got a shit ton to teach you, but we both gonna have a damn good time while you learnin’ it.” 

He winked at her and she smiled warmly and sincerely. It was the smile that went all the way to her eyes and made her nose crinkle.

“I love you,” she said. “I really do.” 

“Good thing. I love you, too, and I sure weren’t lettin’ your ass go off lookin’ for some other person to love. Especially not with my damn kid in tow.” He laughed to himself when Carol laughed quietly. “Come on. Let’s go home,” Daryl offered, resting her hand on his thigh to make it clear that he liked for her to keep touching him, and cranking the truck.


	76. Chapter 76

AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Daryl hadn’t taken it personally at all when Carol had mentioned that she might like the opportunity to soak in the tub, alone, and simply take in the day. He hadn’t taken it personally that she needed a few moments of quiet to digest everything. In fact, he’d seemed somewhat relieved and had immediately admitted that he’d like a little quiet time, too, but he hadn’t wanted her to think that he didn’t want to be around her or meant anything dismissive by it. 

They’d happily gone their separate ways—Carol to the bathroom with a book and some candles, and Daryl off in the rest of the house to entertain himself the way that he wanted with the quiet. 

Carol took her time in the bathtub. She tried to read, but she spent more time reminding herself that she meant to read than she did actually absorbing any of the story. Finally, when she was sure that she’d spent long enough soaking, she got out and dried off. 

Carol stared at herself in the mirror, naked, and turned this way and that, looking for any evidence whatsoever of the pregnancy that she was doing her best to truly accept was real. 

Maybe her breasts looked heavier. She hefted one and then the other in her palm. She always gained weight in her breasts. Maybe her tummy was rounder. She ghosted her fingers over the lower part of her abdomen where Dr. Martin had been probing earlier. It could be that there was something there, or it could be that it was all only evidence of a few too many hearty meals shared lately with Daryl. 

Maybe her nipples and areolas were darker—just a touch. Maybe, of course, the light was just dim enough in the bathroom to make it appear that was the case.

Carol hung the towel up, blew out the candles, and picked up her book. She walked quickly into the bedroom and walked over to her dresser. She pulled open the dresser drawer and sat picking through the stacks of her neatly folded pajamas to decide what suited her—something soft. She was feeling like she needed soft and snuggly.

She needed something soft, warm, and welcoming.

Carol made her selection and pulled her warm pajama set from the drawer. She opened another drawer for panties and socks, grabbed a pair of each, and pushed it closed. With her selections in her arms, she went straight to the bed, dropped her clothing on the bed, and quickly dressed. Each new item she put on was comfortable and cozy—and just the right choice. She was feeling physically relaxed after her bath, and she appreciated that. 

As she straightened up from pulling on her last sock, she smiled to herself.

Her eyes saw what they’d just been scanning over before, and she couldn’t help but smile. It had been no accident.

On her nightstand, just under the lamp that had been left burning to keep her from emerging from the bathroom into a darkened bedroom, there was a frame. She recognized it immediately as one that had been on a shelf in the living room. Carol had bought the frame on a whim some years ago at a store she’d gone to with Andrea. It was simple, but something about it had attracted Carol—the faux wood grain, the tiny and colorful little painted flowers. Daryl had asked her who was in the picture, not too long ago, actually, and she’d admitted that it was only an empty frame. The picture was the picture that had come with the frame—some generic group of people. 

It wasn’t so generic now. 

Carol’s throat felt tight as she picked the frame up and brought it closer to her face. She ran her finger over the glass. She stared at it like she could make something out—something more than a large head, and tiny little arms and legs just starting to sprout, as Daryl had said. 

She looked at it like she might make out a little nose, eyes, or mouth. Or, rather, she looked at it like she might be able to say something entirely ridiculous like “it has your nose.” 

It was impossible to say such a thing. It didn’t look like anyone. It hardly looked like a baby.

But it was beautiful. It was so very, truly beautiful. 

Looking at the little black and white picture in the frame, Carol’s chest tightened up along with her throat. She felt tears prickling at her eyes, and she didn’t try to fight them. Instead, she simply reached for the box of tissue on her nightstand, pulled several free, and let them flow. She dried them as they came, replacing tissues as necessary, already feeling something therapeutic in the release of her tears.

“I love you,” Carol said, finally, feeling more in control of herself. She wiped her nose and eyes with clean tissue and discarded a heaping handful of soggy tissues into the trash can before helping herself to more dry ones. “I don’t—know what I’m doing. I don’t even know if I can do it. But I know that I love you. I love you. And I hope—this time—that’s enough.” Carol mopped at her face a bit more. She swallowed against the almost permanent feeling of congestion that she’d been suffering from lately. She smiled, once more, at the little black and white picture of the growing little miracle—because she could think of it as nothing less. “Your Daddy loves you, too,” she offered, her stomach practically fluttering with the confirmation of the words.

Carol put the frame back on the nightstand and straightened it twice before she was satisfied with its placement. She dropped the last of the used tissues into the little trash can beside the nightstand and touched the frame once more before she returned to the bathroom. In the bathroom, she wet her face and dried it, slathered on the face lotion that she liked the best, and brushed her teeth.

Then, for just a moment or two longer, she stood and examined her reflection again, smoothing her soft pajamas around her abdomen as she cupped it and rubbed her fingers across it—examining herself from the left and the right.

Even though she was having a hard time believing it—and even though she felt overwhelmed when she admitted it to herself—it was true. She knew it was true. There was a baby there. Carol smiled to herself. She’d heard the heartbeat herself, and it had sounded beautiful—nothing at all like the haunting silence that she’d heard before, when she’d been sure her heart had been broken beyond repair. 

“Your Daddy put your picture on the nightstand,” Carol offered, the words soothing only her, since she doubted that the baby was even capable of hearing anything. Still, whether she was talking to herself or to someone else, Carol liked hearing the words, and she liked saying them.

Satisfied, Carol left the bathroom. She padded into the living room. Everything was off except the light over the stove in the kitchen and the television set. The volume on the television had been turned low enough that Daryl couldn’t have even pretended that he was watching it. Of course, as soon as she heard the light snoring, Carol knew that he wasn’t even pretending. 

Her heart swelled oddly at the sound and she practically tiptoed over to catch him sleeping. She bit her bottom lip, smiling to herself, as she eased around the couch to peer at him. Her heart beat fast, and hard, and a little wild in her chest.

“I love you, too,” she whispered, her voice low enough that it wouldn’t wake Daryl. 

He’d pretended to be watching something—some movie—but Carol could tell that he’d been napping for a while—possibly since she’d gone to get in the bathtub. He was lying on his back, and one arm hung loosely off the couch while the other rested over his chest. He would be uncomfortable if he stayed there too long in that position.

Carol eased over to him. She touched his face, rubbing her fingers gently against the hair on his cheek—the part of his goatee that he intended to be there, and the stubble that came with the hour. He didn’t wake, but he did move slightly and the snoring stopped.

“I love you,” Carol said, leaning closer to him and saying the words a little louder. “I love you,” she repeated, after she peppered his face with a few soft kisses. 

His eyes were closed, but he smiled. Carol smiled, too. She couldn’t help it. 

Carol eased her body down, putting some pressure on the couch, until she’d arranged herself on top of him—flat on top of him. He pretended he was asleep. He kept his body still and his eyes closed. He pretended that he didn’t know she was there, and hadn’t woken, but his hand had moved enough to catch her hip and hold it like he was making sure that she didn’t tumble off to the side while she got situated.

She giggled to herself and settled on top of him with a sigh.

“I love you,” she said again.

“So you been sayin’,” Daryl offered. 

Carol sat up enough to look at him. His eyes were still closed. He wasn’t giving up the charade entirely—not yet. His voice had the particularly gravelly quality that it got when he had been sleeping. It hadn’t all been a game. The snoring at the beginning had been real.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Carol said, meaning it even as she said it. 

The other hand—the one not protecting her from toppling off the couch—joined its counterpart to hold her. Daryl squeezed her lightly against him. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at her. They were slightly swollen with sleep.

“I’m not, woman,” he said. “You can wake me up anytime to tell me you love me an’ give me some lovin’.” 

Carol smiled at him.

“I want some loving,” she admitted. 

“You do?” Daryl asked.

Carol hummed at him and nodded. 

“I’m feeling like…”

“Yeah?” Daryl pressed when she stopped. “How you feelin’?”

“I want to be—snuggled. Held. Cuddled.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. The laughter shook her whole body as it shook his. He tightened his hold on her. 

“I suppose I can fill that order,” Daryl offered. “As long as you’re holdin’ me back.” 

“As much as you want,” Carol said. 

“Can’t pass up an offer like that,” Daryl said. He made a noise—something like a groan—and pushed himself to sit up. Carol had to move with him, but he held her in such a way as to keep her from falling off him as he moved. He helped her so that they moved together, and she gained her feet first and almost in exactly the same spot as where she’d been standing when she’d first leaned over to join him on the couch. He stood, too, and wrapped an arm around her. He pulled her to him and kissed her face before he released her slightly.

“Let’s go lay down in the bed,” Daryl said. “There’s more room for snugglin’ there an’ it don’t hurt my back as much.” 

“I’ll go wherever you want,” Carol said. 

“You’re feelin’ awful agreeable tonight,” Daryl teased. He tangled Carol’s fingers together with his own and led her around as he performed his nighttime ministrations and created a long and somewhat winding path to finally head toward the bedroom. 

“Thank you for—putting the picture in the frame,” Carol said as she followed him toward the bedroom. 

“You saw that, did’ja?” Daryl asked.

Carol hummed. 

“It was very—thoughtful.”

“I like it,” Daryl said. “Figured we didn’t wanna lose it. Risk it gettin’ messed up or nothin’. I took a couple pictures of it on my phone, too.” 

“Why?” Carol asked.

Daryl shrugged. 

“Why not?” He asked. “Wanted ‘em.” 

Carol smiled to herself. Daryl, she decided, didn’t have to explain everything he did. Sometimes, after all, they just did things. They didn’t always have an elegant explanation for everything they did. 

“Daryl…” Carol said as he led her straight to the bed and started the process of rearranging the pillows and pulling back the blankets. She helped him.

“Hmmm?” He hummed.

“I—want to make a big deal,” Carol said. Her stomach tightened a little, and then it fluttered with nerves. Daryl looked at her with a furrowed brow. “Please?”

“What?” He asked.

Carol smiled to herself.

“I want to make a big deal,” she repeated. This time there was a touch more confidence behind her words. “About the baby. I want to make a big deal. If—if you want to, I mean. And you—don’t mind.” 

Daryl stared at her a moment until he crossed the few feet of floor that separated them. He took her in his arms and she came willingly. He swayed her slightly and kissed her on the lips.

“Mind? Hell—it’s what the hell I wanted. We’re gonna make the biggest damn deal that anybody’s ever made. Won’t nobody be able to stand us. We’ll hardly be able to stand ourselves. We’re gonna make the biggest fuckin’ deal that anybody ever made before over gettin’ us our very own miracle.” 

Carol smiled at him. His enthusiasm was genuine. It was palpable. It wrapped warmly around Carol in the same way that his arms did. Her heart beat faster because of it.

“I’m really starting to believe in miracles,” she offered, gladly accepting the kiss that Daryl gave her before he invited her to snuggle with him under the covers.


	77. Chapter 77

AN: I was totally inspired by a beautiful comment from NLRemember. I really needed it today, and it really made me want to write a little more here. I didn’t expect to get this chapter out to you after a full day, but here it is. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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“OK—but’cha can’t have morning sickness when it’s like five in the evening, Carol,” Daryl said. 

Carol was fanning herself with a piece of paper advertising sales at the grocery store and nibbling on a cracker. 

“Maybe the baby can’t tell time,” Carol said. “I don’t know if my uterus has a clock in it, Daryl.” 

“But you’re sick in the middle of the night. Around two or three. That’s when the baby wants you to get sick.” 

“Well, right now, it feels like the baby really wants me to be sick at five,” Carol said. She sat down at the table, still fanning herself with the colorful piece of paper.

“What if it’s somethin’ else?” Daryl asked, going to the refrigerator. He cracked open one of the cold cans of ginger ale and put it in front of Carol. A search on his phone had said that saltine crackers and ginger ale were a pregnancy staple and were something she’d be likely able to eat when she couldn’t eat other things. The website had also suggested that it might settle her stomach and, so far, it had been her breakfast of choice during the past two days since Daryl had introduced the now-necessary staples into the kitchen.

“What do you think it might be?” Carol asked.

“I don’t know, but—it ain’t our lil’ sprout’s normal timing,” Daryl said.

Despite her nausea, Carol smiled at him. 

“Have we even—known about our sprout long enough for it to have a normal time?” Carol asked.

“I mean—I think so,” Daryl said. “I just—don’t want it to be nothin’ else. Like you ain’t sick, are you? Like—for real sick. I mean I know you’re sick, but…”

“I know what you mean. And I’ve been fine all day,” Carol said. “I just—I don’t even know what it is. Maybe it’s the food. Do you think it could be the smell of the food?” 

“You hate my cookin’ that bad?” Daryl asked with a laugh. Immediately home from work, he’d started the meal. It would be a simple meal that was a sort of steak stir fry. He’d found the recipe for it, and both of them had agreed it sounded good and fairly quick and easy to make. He’d bought dessert on the way home.

“I love your cooking, but…”

“Sprout might not,” Daryl offered when Carol hesitated.

“Oh—Daryl—if it’s the food…I’m so sorry…”

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Don’t apologize. If it’s the food…we’ll make you somethin’ that’s OK to you. Hell—we’ll get rid of this, if you want. Just have whatever sounds good to Sprout.” 

Carol laughed to herself.

“Nothing sounds good right now,” she admitted. “But—it’s passing, I think. I think it’s feeling better. I was just—I think I’m hot.” 

“Wanna—step out on the porch?” Daryl asked. “I could smoke a cigarette. You could get some air. Cool down a bit. This is done and there ain’t no keepin’ it on the eye until they get here.” 

Carol seemed to consider his suggestion to go out onto the porch for a moment, and then she nodded. Daryl gave her a reassuring smile and waved at her. She followed him to the back porch, not that she needed an invitation to go out there. She settled into the rocking chair with her ginger ale in hand—her crackers abandoned—and Daryl lit the citronella candle between them for good measure and then settled into his own chair with a cigarette. 

“Smell of that candle or this botherin’ you?” Daryl asked.

“No,” Carol said. 

“Feelin’ better?” 

“Maybe a little,” Carol said.

“Think maybe Sprout don’t like—them spices? Because I think you ate everything before except maybe that spice packet I bought. You reckon—it could be somethin’ in there that, when it’s cookin’, don’t smell good to you?” 

Carol frowned like she might cry over the whole thing and Daryl reached his hand out and caught hers. She let him have it, and he worked it in his hand.

“Don’t cry about it,” he said. “Hell—if Sprout don’t like the smell of it…it’s just a thing. I meant what I said. I’ll make you somethin’ that smells good to you. We’ll burn some candles. Open the damn windows. Cool it down in there and dilute the damn smell. What you think it wants?”

“I thought it wanted that recipe,” Carol said. “It sounded good when you read it out over the phone.” 

“Peanut butter?” Carol made a somewhat pleased face and Daryl swallowed back a smile. “And jelly,” he added. “With—some of that vegetable soup you made. That oughta sound alright to you. Warm and good for you both.” 

“How are we going to explain to Andrea and Merle that you went through all that to make dinner for everyone and I’m freezing them with the windows open, burning candles so that they can’t smell their food, and refusing to sit near them while I eat something entirely different?” Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself and shrugged.

“We don’t know Andrea’s gonna want it, neither. What if their kid don’t like it? Merle calls it Peanut. Maybe Peanut don’t want it neither. Maybe Andrea’ll want peanut butter’n jelly, too.” 

“I really don’t know how she’s doing with food. She hasn’t been into the café in a while, honestly,” Carol said. “At least not to eat. I feel like—I’ve neglected her. I’ve been trying to keep things a secret—even the whole hoping for a baby, and my feelings over her pregnancy—and…now that I think about it? I haven’t been a very good friend.” 

“Maybe she’s been outta touch, too, you know. Merle said she ain’t doin’ so hot. He said that even though they fired that nurse at your doctor’s office…he said she ain’t really overed what that nurse said. About she obviously didn’t care then so there weren’t no need in her pretendin’ like she cares now. Been damn near a month, Merle said, and she still wakes up an’ goes to bed with them words kinda gnawin’ at her.”

“She didn’t tell me that,” Carol said. “She told me that—she was upset when the nurse first said it, but…”

“Merle said Michonne said somethin’ to her. Not nothin’ too mean, but just…like she was crazy for lettin’ this happen or whatever. Maybe she was crazy for doin’ it with Merle. Somethin’ like that. Anyway, Merle said she weren’t like totally off on what she said, maybe, if you was to look at it from a certain angle, but it just kinda hurt Andrea’s feelings and Merle said her feelings is particularly susceptible to getting hurt right now.”

“I’ll be honest,” Carol said with a sigh, “I love Michonne, but I’m a little worried about telling her. She’s super practical, but sometimes that makes her…I don’t know…”

“Negative?” 

“Something like that,” Carol said with a laugh. “She means well.”

“And she prob’ly ain’t all wrong, like Merle said,” Daryl offered. “Still, sometimes you gotta know when the hell you just let somethin’ go because lettin’ people enjoy shit is more important than tellin’ ‘em what they prob’ly already know.”

Carol laughed quietly. 

“They’re still going to think it’s strange that I’m not eating the same thing as them,” Carol said. “Whether or not Andrea wants to eat it.” 

“Maybe we don’t wait long,” Daryl said. “Maybe—we don’t make it all the way to dessert. Maybe we tell ‘em right away. Maybe we bring the dessert out first. Let ‘em see it. Tell ‘em our news. Then we eat. That way they won’t think it’s weird, Andrea can eat whatever she wants and so can you, and she’ll prob’ly feel a thousand times better ‘cause she’ll just be so damned wrapped up in squealin’ with you about shit that she’ll forget all about how down and low she was feeling.” 

Daryl could see, just from glancing at Carol’s face and the smile that played across her lips, that she liked that idea. He rocked his chair and, from holding her hand in his, rocked her chair a little.

“You like that? Wanna—bring the dessert out right away an’ tell ‘em before we even get going? Then we can have the whole damn dinner to talk about it. Don’t have to spend the whole meal thinkin’ about what we’re gonna say or—even hurryin’ it up in our minds.” 

“I think it would be fine to tell them at the start,” Carol said. 

“Settled, then,” Daryl said. 

“Daryl…” Carol said, after a moment of silence had settled between them. Daryl hummed at her in question. “Do you think—we ought to tell them?” 

“We’re havin’ dinner just to tell ‘em,” Daryl said. “Got the cake and wrote out the cards an’ everything. I mean—I kinda thought that was the whole idea.” 

“But I mean—Andrea’s at the point where, really, right now is when she ought to start telling,” Carol said.

“That sure didn’t work out, did it?” Daryl said with a laugh.

“My point is, it’s kind of early,” Carol said.

“To who?” 

“Everyone says you should wait,” Carol said. “Until after the first trimester. The whole risk of miscarriage drops, then. They say that—if you tell everyone too early, and something happens, then you have to tell everyone that you…you know…lost the baby. They say you should wait.” 

Daryl hummed and rocked his chair to release some energy.

“I hear ya,” he said. “I do. But—I want’cha to hear me out, OK? Just—hear me out.” 

“I’m listening,” Carol said, giving him a half smile. He couldn’t help but smile in response.

“If somethin’ were to happen—and God knows I’m prayin’ with every fuckin’ thing I got in me that it don’t—but if it did? We’d be pretty torn up about it, don’t you think? I mean—I know I would.” 

“You know I would be,” Carol said.

“So—we’d be torn up about it. Don’t you think—if we was dealin’ with that kinda hurt. That real kinda deep hurt like that. Don’t you think that—my brother and your best friend would notice? And don’t you think that—maybe other people that know us pretty damn good would notice that we was torn up like our whole damn world just got crushed under some damn body’s bootheel?” 

“I think they might notice something was up,” Carol ceded.

“And if we were torn up like that,” Daryl said, “and if they noticed, then they’d be wantin’ to know what was goin’ on. They’d be askin’ for explanations. They’d be wantin’ to know so they’d know what they could do to try to make us feel better. Don’t you think that’s reasonable to say?” 

Carol’s smile grew slightly.

“I think that’s pretty reasonable.” 

“And then we’d have to tell ‘em,” Daryl said. “So, we’d tell ‘em any damn way, but we’d be tellin’ ‘em through the lens of bein’ just real damn tore to pieces by it. Would you say that’s right?” 

“It’s probably right,” Carol said.

“So—and maybe it’s just me,” Daryl said. “Even if I might have to tell ‘em why I’m hurtin’ someday—and I hope I don’t never have to, mind you, but if I did—I’d like to do it knowin’ that we got this chance, right here, to tell ‘em how fuckin’ happy we are right now. I’d like to do it knowin’ that we got to tell everybody how happy we are for however long we get to, you know, be happy like this.” 

Carol sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a satisfied smiled. 

“I like that,” she said.

“If you don’t wanna tell ‘em,” Daryl said, letting the words trail off.

“I do want to tell them,” Carol said.

“Not just because I said that, though,” Daryl said. “I don’t wanna push you into nothin’ you don’t wanna do.” 

“I want to tell them because—we’re having a baby,” Carol said, squeezing his hand. She smiled at him when he smiled at her. He kissed her fingers and then squeezed her hand in return.

“We are,” he said. “You and me—we’re havin’ a baby.” 

“We’re—growing a sprout,” Carol said with a quiet laugh.

“Sprout makes you happy? I mean—callin’ it Sprout an’ all?” 

“Daryl—everything about Sprout makes me happy,” Carol said. “Absolutely everything.” 

“Except the—bein’ sick and shit,” Daryl said with a snort.

Carol laughed to herself. 

“Even that—I’ll take it,” she admitted. “I just hope—Sprout leaves me something I can eat.” 

“Don’t worry,” Daryl said, winking at her. “Daddy’ll find somethin’ for Sprout to eat.” He stood up. “You sit out here a bit. I’ma go cool the house down. Open a couple windows. Light a couple candles. Top you off on your ginger ale?” 

“Please?”

“Be right back.” 

“You’re spoiling me,” Carol said, blushing slightly. She was unaccustomed to simply being cared for. Daryl knew that. Still, she was learning to accept it and he was enjoying teaching her how to receive as much as she gave to him.

“My number one goal, woman,” he said, heading into the house to take care of the tasks he needed to accomplish before Andrea and Merle got there for dinner.


	78. Chapter 78

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Carol felt better with a little cold air, a little more ginger ale, and a house that smelled less like the offending spices—since Daryl was convinced that could be the only thing that was out of the ordinary—and a little more like the Christmas tree scented candles that he lit on several surfaces surrounding their dining table. Daryl didn’t figure the slight chill of the cracked windows would do more than give everyone the desire to be close to each other. 

With the smell somewhat pushed back, Carol felt well enough to put some finishing touches on their plan for announcing Sprout’s existence to Merle and Andrea. She finished the little card, read it back to Daryl, and then placed it on the table with “Merle and Andrea Dixon” beautifully written across the envelope in Carol’s most flowery handwriting.

They were barely able to finish everything before Merle and Andrea got there. They went through the customary exchanges of hugs where necessary, and Merle teased Daryl about thinking he’d taken a wrong turn because, judging from the smell, he’d meant to go to his brother’s house and had ended up at a Christmas tree farm.

Daryl caught Carol’s expression and his heart responded. She was visibly nervous, but in the best way possible. He felt like he could practically feel the vibration of her nerves. 

“Uh—why don’t y’all just come on over here and have a seat?” Daryl said, directing Andrea and Merle. He realized his own hands were shaking, and he flexed his fingers to try to gain some control over things. 

“You alright, brother?” Merle asked with a snort.

“Just that it’s late, Merle,” Daryl said. “We wanna enjoy dinner, an’ the sooner we get started, the more time we got to just…enjoy it.”

Merle was eyeballing him, practically wall eyed. There was suspicion there, but it would all be explained as soon as Merle and Andrea followed the request to sit at the table. 

Merle saw the enveloped first, and he picked it up and stared at it. The look of suspicion only grew when he looked at Daryl.

“The hell is this?” He asked.

“Why don’t’cha open it?” Daryl asked. 

“The hell is all this?” Merle asked, putting more emphasis behind the words and gesturing toward the cake box that Daryl had placed in the middle of the table. He hadn’t paid it any attention until now—probably mistaking it for a gift box or any other kind of box that might be common with the Christmas season in the air. “Too damn early for presents.” 

“Open the damn envelope, Merle!” Daryl said, his frustration bubbling out.

Everyone laughed, including Carol, and she made her way to Daryl. She threaded her arms through his and snuggled against him, resting her head against his shoulder. He felt himself relax simply with her proximity.

Merle still looked somewhat suspicious, but he was clearly amused. He handed the enveloped to Andrea.

“Here, Sugar,” he said. “You open it. My fingers are too damned big. I hate tryin’ to open shit, and I get the feelin’ we don’t wanna just tear this shit apart.” 

“I barely sealed the envelope,” Carol offered to Andrea when she took the enveloped and eyed both of them. She slipped her finger under the flap, popped the barely-there seal, and pulled out the card that they’d chosen—something simple and pastel with nothing more than a picture of a little flower pot and flower on the front. She flipped open the card and read it silently for a moment. She looked at them with her brow furrowed and Daryl felt Carol press her face into his arm.

“Well, Sugar?” Merle asked. Andrea moved to hand him the card and he waved it away. “You read it.”

Andrea accepted that. She opened the card like a book and took the stance of someone about to recite a piece of literature on a stage instead of someone reading a message printed on the inside of a once-blank greeting card.

“It says ‘I’ve sprouted some hands, and little bitty feet. Y’all are two people, I just can’t wait to meet. See you soon!’” Andrea read.

Daryl walked over, with Carol still grasping the upper part of his arm with her hand, and flipped open the top of the cake box. His whole body had felt like Jell-O, in the best way possible, when he’d first inspected it at the bakery. He’d chosen it. Carol had let him decide everything—what to put on it, how they might do this. He’d been worried that it wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be good enough. It wouldn’t be creative enough. She’d promised him that he was very creative, and it would be perfect. 

He didn’t know if it was perfect, but it had made him happy to see it, and he’d already taken several pictures of the cake.

It was a simple cake. In the center of it was a flower pot with the evidence of a tiny little green stem and one leaf growing out of its dirt. Around the flower pot, in the green icing, was written “Welcome, Sprout Dixon! Coming in June!” 

Andrea and Merle both leaned to look at the cake. Daryl let his eyes fall over their faces. Merle seemed slower on the uptake. He saw the moment that it registered for Andrea and she covered her mouth and lost her color for a second before it all came rushing back and a dark pink flooded her cheeks before she practically collided with Carol in a fully embracing hug.

At first there were no words—just the hug, but Daryl thought it probably said enough for a moment.

Then, he saw Merle looking at him, with a half-smile bringing up one corner of his mouth.

“Accidents gonna happen, ain’t they brother?” Merle teased.

Daryl shook his head.

“It weren’t no accident, Merle,” Daryl said. 

“No?” 

Daryl made his way around Andrea and Carol to close the distance between himself and his brother.

“Not at all, Merle,” Daryl said. “Ain’t prayed for nothin’ more than I prayed for this to happen. For me—but for her, too. It’s what the hell we wanted.” 

Merle smiled to himself. He reached an arm out and, catching Daryl’s shoulder, brought him in for one of the sincerest hugs that Daryl could remember ever having received from his brother. The last time Merle had hugged him this sincerely, he’d told him it was OK to cry if he was crying over the fact that their mother was nothing more than ash.

Daryl unashamedly closed his eyes and sunk into the hug for a moment, savoring it, and he imagined that Merle might be doing the same.

Neither of them said anything to the other about the tightness in their throats that they undoubtedly shared when the hug broke.

“Congratulations, brother,” Merle said. 

“Thanks,” Daryl said, nodding his agreement with the feeling expressed in the statement. “But—hey—congratulations to you, too, right?” 

“You done said it to me,” Merle said with a laugh. 

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

“Don’t mean I only meant it once,” he offered.

“You wanted the whole damn fantasy,” Merle said. “Looks like you damn near got it.” 

“You ain’t done so bad yourself,” Daryl offered.

Merle laughed to himself and nodded his head. He glanced toward Carol and Andrea. Perhaps, to give Daryl and Merle their moment, the women had somewhat walked away and given them some space. Daryl wasn’t sure if they’d been talking, but if they had, they’d done it in a whisper. Of course, looking at them, he recognized that words weren’t always necessary.

Andrea was simply standing, her hands on either side of Carol’s face, smiling at her despite the large, obvious tears that were rolling freely down her cheeks.

Merle cleared his throat loudly and theatrically, obviously only doing it to draw the attention of the two women without harshly interrupting them.

They both looked up and Daryl realized neither set of eyes was dry, but neither woman’s smiling expression denoted anything but shared happiness.

“What’s a man gotta do to get some food around here? Or we just eatin’ cake?” Merle asked. He held his arm out in Carol’s direction, beckoning her toward him. “Come ‘ere,” he said. 

It was enough for Carol. She rushed toward him and gladly accepted the hug that Merle gave her along with the congratulations that he had to offer. Daryl accepted Andrea’s hug and congratulations, and he quickly pulled a few Kleenex from a nearby box and handed them to her before passing a few to Carol.

“It’s a little early to tell anyone, really,” Carol said, sniffing and clearly finding her voice once more. “Ten weeks. We should’ve waited a couple more weeks, really.” 

“I’m glad you told us early!” Andrea declared. “A couple more weeks and you’d be where I am.” 

“Decent enough place to be, Sugar,” Merle said. He physically directed Andrea toward her chair and she went willingly. 

“I ought to help serve,” she said.

“I’m servin’,” Daryl said. “Everybody sit. We got—steak stir fry with this kinda spicy sauce and tortillas. But Sprout don’t like the smell of it one damn bit, so we also got some good leftover vegetable soup that Carol made with a side of peanut butter’n jelly sandwich.”

People put in their orders quickly and Daryl served drinks and plates—refusing help and threatening to tie Carol to her chair—without feeling like it was work at all. He listened to the chatting at the table, and his stomach fluttered happily. 

Andrea told Carol that her morning sickness was pretty much gone. She said she could smell food at ten miles of distance, though, and that everything was starting to make her hungry. Carol told Andrea that she was hungry most of the day, but Sprout loved the night life, apparently, and hadn’t let her have a decent night’s sleep in ages. Andrea told Carol that she needed new clothes. She was on the last of her “fat” clothes before nothing would fit, and Carol said that she wanted to go shopping with her because her pants, honestly, were already a little snugger than she liked.

Merle sat at the table and quietly observed the conversation taking place. Daryl realized that, honestly, neither he nor Merle may have very much to contribute to this conversation for a while, but it felt like it didn’t matter. It felt like it was supposed to happen just like this.

When Daryl brought Carol her soup and sandwich—she being the only one who had requested anything out of the ordinary—she frowned at him and caught his hand.

“I’m sorry,” she said, practically in a whisper. 

Daryl smiled at her and caught her chin. He kissed her, not caring whether or not Merle might tease him—though he chose not to at the moment—and shook his head at her. 

“You gotta give ‘em what they want to grow,” Daryl said. “Sprout ain’t hurtin’ nobody by not wantin’ what we havin’.” 

He took his seat at the table and, like Merle, sat silently while first Andrea and then Carol added little tidbits to the conversation that was bouncing back and forth between them like a ping pong ball. Andrea told Carol what Michonne had said. Carol told Andrea to ignore Michonne. Carol told Andrea she worried about what Michonne might say. Andrea bounced back Carol’s declaration that Michonne was meant to be ignored when she thought she was helping with a healthy dose of negativity. 

By the time Daryl was ready to serve decaf coffee and cake, this time accepting his brother’s help just because Merle clearly wanted to get up from the table and move around, they were ready to open up the conversation to more topics—though still baby related. Both Merle and Daryl waved away the pink-cheeked apologies as both women declared that they’d been rude and ignored Daryl and Merle—and both looked like they might cry over something completely inconsequential.

“Contrary to popular belief,” Merle said. “There’s a good many times I’d rather just sit an’ listen than run my mouth. How’s about—cuttin’ a piece of that celebratory cake?” 

“Come on,” Daryl said to Carol. “You gotta help me. We ain’t cut no cake together when we got married. We might as well cut this one.” 

“Awwww,” Andrea declared loudly. She covered her own mouth. Clearly, she hadn’t meant for the sound to escape.

“Shit,” Merle said with a laugh. “You want you a baby cake now, Darlin’?” 

“Shut up, Merle,” Andrea said, half laughing. “It’s too late for that and…it’s already been done now.”

“Just means you gotta come up with somethin’ better, Merle,” Daryl teased.

Carol did help him cut the cake. It was more ceremonial than anything, but Andrea understood what he was asking when he handed her his phone to help him capture the moment. They served pieces of cake around and, with the table cleared, Carol moved close to everyone instead of keeping the little bit of distance she’d kept between them all when they were eating the food seasoned with the offending spices.

“Merle—do you—do you want a boy or a girl?” Carol asked, clearly trying to steer the conversation around to something that they could all discuss.

Merle shrugged and took his time with a bite of cake. It was clear, immediately, that he was impressed with the cake.

“Hell—shitty as people have been over things,” Merle said, “I’ma just be happy if it’s human and got at least half its damn parts an’ all that.” 

“Merle…” Andrea said, a touch of warning in her voice. Merle laughed to himself. He reached a hand out and patted Andrea’s arm.

“Calm down,” he said. “I just mean people are fuckin’ assholes. Like what some damn body else does with their life affects them at all. Like we gonna ask ‘em to raise it or somethin’ and it’s such a big damn inconvenience to them that another damn kid exists in the world. I don’t give a shit one way or another what it is. Hell—never imagined gettin’ this far.” 

“Andrea?” Carol asked.

Andrea shrugged. She was eating her cake in smaller bites than Merle.

“I just want it,” she said. 

Carol laughed quietly. 

“I feel the same way,” she admitted.

Daryl realized, suddenly, that all eyes were on him. Nobody said anything, but they were waiting patiently for his answer, as though his answer might be some definitive choice for something that, really, didn’t matter at all. 

“Boy or girl,” Daryl offered, laughing to himself, “don’t matter to me. I got favorite movies with both of ‘em, so I’m just about as flexible as they come. All the hell I got to say about the whole damn thing is grow lil’ Sprout, grow!” 

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AN: I’m going to be entirely honest; I don’t know how happy I am with this chapter. However, I’ve been working on it for several days and I don’t know how to make it any better, or even what I think is wrong with it, exactly, so it is what it is. Maybe it’s just a moody mood. 

At any rate, I hope you enjoyed!


	79. Chapter 79

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

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Getting everyone to rearrange their schedules for an impromptu post-lunch-rush-late-lunch at the café wasn’t really as difficult as Carol might have imagined it would be when she’d suggested it through a group text to the Glory Gals. Alice’s schedule was, as a general rule, the least flexible, but she was off for the day and that opened up a lot more possibility than usual. They decided to meet when her new companion—Sadie—was done teaching her morning classes at the university and had a chunk of time before her later classes began. She needed to eat, after all, and it made it easy to get everyone to agree on a specific window around which to organize their gathering. 

Carol hadn’t really come up with any truly fancy way to tell her friends her news. In a back corner table, where they would be less likely to draw too much attention, but where they could still keep an eye on the handful of people who lingered over coffee, some food, and work or a book, at this slightly off-hour of business, Carol had simply come straight out with an unadorned “I’m pregnant” and waited for reactions even as she enjoyed the taste of those words on her tongue. She relished the words, but she realized they were words that her friends—with no reason to expect they were coming—would need a moment to digest.

It didn’t matter. Carol knew that. Just saying those words—just the sound of them—made her heart beat faster and harder in her chest. They were beautiful words. Happy words. They made her stomach feel full of butterflies and, in the very little time since she’d known of Sprout’s existence, she’d found that she simply loved saying them. They came to her out of nowhere. They bubbled up inside her and she caught them before they left her lips at the strangest times. She indulged herself and let them go when she was at home.

“I’m pregnant,” she would say, awe-struck, as she brushed her teeth. Daryl would smile at her, immediately. 

“You damn sure are,” he’d confirm around a mouthful of toothpaste.

“I’m pregnant,” she would catch herself blurting out as she made breakfast. Daryl, bringing her the eggs to scramble, would nuzzle her neck and leave a few kisses there that made her shiver in the best way.

“You are that,” he’d confirm.

Sometimes her brain changed it up. The words might change, but the feeling in her body didn’t. The tears that prickled at her eyes didn’t change.

“We’re having a baby,” she’d whisper to Daryl as he found his place in the bed beside her for actual sleep—stretching like a cat before settling down with a sigh.

He’d sigh again, and she could hear the contentment in the sound.

“Yeah,” he’d say, his hand resting warm over her stomach and giving it either a little pat or a gentle rub, “we are.” 

Daryl didn’t make Carol explain why it was that she sometimes felt utterly unable to keep from bursting out with the words that didn’t need to be said, a dozen or more times a day, in the past day or two. It was information, after all, that they shared. Carol was glad that he didn’t ask for an explanation, because she doubted that she could explain it. She didn’t understand it herself. It just seemed to fill her up sometimes and it had to come out—it just came out.

But Daryl didn’t mind. He met each reminder of what they were doing together with love.

And he’d told her to ignore anyone’s negativity.

Andrea already knew Carol’s news, and she sat there with a small smile on her face—evidence that she was trying to hold it back—as she watched back and forth among the others to see their reactions.

Jacqui was the first to realize what Carol said. In Jacqui’s normal way of simply being Jacqui, she responded. She stood up from her spot at the table, walked over behind Carol’s chair and, before Carol could turn around to offer her body a little more openly, Jacqui hugged her from behind. Carol closed her eyes and relished the comfortable feeling of Jacqui’s squeeze—just hard enough to say she was sincere, but not too hard—and the feeling of her cheek brushing against Carol’s.

“Congratulations, Sweetie,” she said. That was it. She straightened up, patted Carol’s shoulder once more, and returned to her seat with a smile on her face. Jacqui wouldn’t say much more—that wasn’t Jacqui’s way. Instead, she’d slowly start to draw discussion out of Carol in the morning while they both crowded into the kitchen to prepare everything for the morning rush. She’d drop little comments throughout the day—what cookies should they bake to celebrate? Should they have a little baby special or something regularly to let the customers know? 

Jacqui wouldn’t make a big deal right away and all at once. Instead, Jacqui would make her congratulations a steady trickle of reminders as they worked.

Alice was the second who seemed to catch on. She looked up from her phone, where she’d been distracted with something, and she’d followed Jacqui’s trip over to hug Carol and her trip back to her seat. She looked from Jacqui, to Andrea, to Carol. She looked at Sadie for guidance, but Sadie had likely missed everything entirely because Carol hadn’t actually gotten her attention when she’d made her announcement and, now, she realized that even if she’d been looking at the cookie on her plate or her coffee, she might have missed the whole thing.

Alice bumped Sadie’s arm. 

“Did you hear her?” Alice asked. 

Sadie didn’t hear Carol’s laugh at the expression she very openly gave Alice for the question—and for Alice’s muttered apology and declaration that “she knew what she meant.” 

They both looked at Carol.

“I’m pregnant,” she repeated, looking directly at Sadie before she flicked her eyes in Alice’s direction.

Alice’s eyes went big and she dropped her phone on the table before she came around the table to hug Carol from behind. Her hug was rougher than Jacqui’s. It rocked Carol from side-to-side and the noise that Alice made in her ear was much harsher than Jacqui’s nearly whispered declaration of congratulations. 

Carol thanked Alice and thanked Sadie, too, for her warm offer of congratulations across the table. Immediately following her congratulations, Sadie informed Carol that she loved babies—something she’d already pointed out to Andrea—and she asked if she and Alice might be allowed to babysit.

The idea of letting someone babysit the baby was so foreign to Carol that she couldn’t possibly wrap her head around it at the moment. The idea that the baby would really be there someday—a free and independent entity—was still far too foreign for Carol to fully digest at the moment. Still, she didn’t want to disappoint Sadie or quell her obvious enthusiasm at all, so she quickly agreed that it was absolutely something that could happen—Carol and Daryl would count on Sadie and Alice to babysit.

And, though she couldn’t imagine that at all in the moment, a warm feeling in Carol’s body told her that it was true.

Michonne shook her head when they all looked at her and stirred her coffee with a partially eaten coffee. 

“Don’t you even look at me like that,” she said. “Congratulations—and that’s all I’m going to say. So—don’t you even look at me like that.” 

“Like what, Mich?” Andrea asked.

“Like that,” Michonne said around the soggy bite of cookie. She pointed at Andrea with her pinky finder while her other fingers held the cookie. “You’ve been giving me horrible looks—you’ve all been giving me horrible looks since—since you think I slighted Andrea in some way.” 

“You told me my baby is the worst mistake of my life,” Andrea said with a put-on shrug. “But I can’t imagine why anyone would think that’s a slight.”

“I didn’t say that,” Michonne said. “I didn’t. I said this—this having a baby—this whole situation…I said this could turn out to be the biggest mistake of your life. I didn’t say it was. Look—you met a man at a bar. At Salty’s, nonetheless. You went home with him. Then you’re living with him before anyone can turn around. You’re married and you’re pregnant—practically all at the same time. Ty works with Merle, Andrea. He knows him. He told me he’s a rough around the edges kind of guy. He’s been unattached his whole life. You don’t think this is fast? Who can say that he won’t decide to just—pack up and move on? Decide he preferred his freedom?” 

“Shane was better?” Andrea asked. “Just because he was a police officer, doesn’t mean he was really an outstanding citizen.”

“You know I didn’t care for Shane,” Michonne said.

“Nobody did,” Alice said. It was the first input from anyone else. Nobody wanted to interrupt the two women too much now that Michonne was actually explaining herself rather than simply tossing unexplained opinions in Andrea’s direction.

“I’m just saying that Merle? This might not have been a great idea.”

Andrea nodded her head. She laughed to herself, but Carol heard the quality of the laughter. It wasn’t sincere.

“Merle is—absolutely rough around the edges,” Andrea said. “And he’s—ten years older than me.”

“That’s another thing,” Michonne said. “A baby? At his age? You’re playing with whether or not he even gets to see his kid grow up.” 

“Either he’s trying to see his kid grow up or he’s flying the coop to get his freedom to pick up other women at Salty’s,” Jacqui said. “But we’ve got to decide what he’s guilty of because there’s no way he’s dedicated to both.” Everyone laughed at Jacqui’s assessment of the situation. It was good laughter—the kind that relieved some of the tension. “Mich—Sweetie,” Jacqui continued whenever the laughter had naturally passed, “you gotta let people make their mistakes, if that’s what they’re going to do.” 

“Wow,” Andrea said. “Wow—so the general consensus, and the only fucking thing we can agree on here is that—this is all a mistake?” 

“That wasn’t what I meant at all,” Jacqui said, reaching over and patting Andrea’s hand. “I meant that to Michonne. And what I meant was—if it is a mistake, it’s yours to make. And it’s nobody else’s business.” 

“I get it, Mich,” Andrea said. “I—get it. Everything you’ve said? I’ve thought about it. I met Merle at Salty’s, and it was absolutely clear that it wasn’t his first rodeo. And—we’ve moved fast. Faster than I’m comfortable with, at times, but…I guess it just happened. And he is rough around the edges. And he’s got—he’s got a streak of something. But I give him an outlet for that. When he needs to get it out, I give him an outlet. One we both agree on.”

“And when that’s not enough?” 

“Hell—I’ll deal with it then, I guess,” Andrea said. “I was never enough for Shane. At least the time when I’m not enough for Merle is still hypothetical. Look—Merle does have that side. Ty knows it because Merle’s not ashamed to share it. He’s not secretive about it. But he’s got another side, too. And it’s a wonderful side, Mich. It’s—appreciative. And calm. And just plain easy. Don’t look at me like that. When I did something for Shane? He treated everything like he was waiting to see what else I had to offer. Anything I do for Merle—anything? He doesn’t even have to say a thing, but I can see it in his eyes that it’s…everything…is like the greatest kindness that he can imagine. And when he doesn’t have something that he needs to get out of his system? When he’s just…OK? He’s really pretty calm and even-keeled. He’s just—satisfied.” 

“That’s fine,” Michonne said. “But are you satisfied?” 

Andrea laughed to herself.

“I always wanted the whole thing, you know? A husband. A baby. Merle—he wants to start a little garden in the spring, Mich, because he read that baby food has all these bad ingredients in it, and he thinks our baby ought to eat things he knows are all right for at least a little while.” Andrea shrugged her shoulders and covered her face. Carol didn’t have to wonder why, so she simply scooted her chair closer to her and rubbed her back. “I’m more than satisfied. I’m happy,” Andrea said. “And I just—want to be allowed to be…happy.” 

Michonne was out of her seat quickly and Carol moved to allow her space to wedge her body between Carol and Andrea’s. Andrea didn’t fight the hug, and she accepted the apology by burying her face for a moment in the crook of Michonne’s neck.

“I never meant that I didn’t want you to be happy,” Michonne said. “Just—that I wanted you to be happy. I didn’t want anyone to mess that up for you.” 

“Then you stop messing with it, asshole,” Andrea said. 

Everyone laughed and, across the table, Carol caught Alice explaining to Sadie, without the need to speak with her voice much more than a very hushed exhalation of breath, what had happened.

When Michonne broke from the hug with Andrea and had used a couple of napkins snagged from the table to wipe at her face as surely as if she were one of Michonne’s own daughters, Andrea frowned at her.

“And now we’ve ruined Carol’s announcement. This was supposed to be her thing.” 

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Carol said. “You couldn’t. And—I said what I had to say.”

Michonne turned her body and pulled Carol into an awkward hug, thanks to the angle caused by their positions.

“I’m happy for you,” Michonne said. “Both of you. But it doesn’t mean I’m not going to have my reservations.” 

Carol laughed to herself.

“I have reservations almost every day,” Carol offered. “And then I put them aside just in time to come up with some more.” 

“How long do you think yours’ll last, Mich?” Andrea asked.

Michonne sighed.

“Five or ten years, at least,” she said with a laugh. “But—I’ll try to do better. I promise.”


	80. Chapter 80

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I think people might have missed the last chapter, so please do make sure that you go back and read it! If you get a chance, don’t forget to let me know if you liked it! 

I hope you enjoy this one! Let me know what you think! 

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“You are really late,” Daryl informed Carol when she came in the door.

He could immediately tell that she’d had a long day and that she was tired. Her shoulders slumped forward in a heavy manner. She closed the door slowly and maybe a touch dramatically. She locked it behind her like turning the deadbolt took all of her remaining energy. She dropped her purse beside the door instead of simply hanging it on the hook where she normally did or putting it on the table. She walked heavily into the kitchen.

“Long day?” Daryl asked. 

Carol hummed. She pulled out the chair at the kitchen table and sat down. She immediately started undoing the laces on her shoes and, the moment her feet were free, she worked one and then the other in her hand.

“Not bad until about three,” Carol said. “A college class decided to take a field trip. And then, it seemed like as soon as everyone piled into the café, everyone passing by in the street decided they suddenly needed coffee, and cake, and everything else. We didn’t stop until—I just left.” 

“Make good tips at least?” Daryl asked. He walked over, behind Carol, and dropped his hands to her shoulders to work the muscles there. She groaned appreciatively.

“Good tips—better profits than we’ve made in a while,” Carol said. “We cleared out everything we’d made for today and some of what we’d started to put together just to be ready for tomorrow.” 

“That’s good, then.” 

“It’s great for my bank account,” Carol said. “But my feet don’t feel quite as enthusiastic.” 

“I got that soup goin’ that you saw online yesterday,” Daryl said. “Picked up all the ingredients when I left work. Some of that crusty loaf bread you like, too. We’ll have somethin’ good to eat. You can take a shower—or a bath. Soak your feet if you want. Then, when you all comfortable, I’ll give you the best damned foot massage you ever had in your life. And, if you want? I’ll top it off with an orgasm good enough to get them sore toes curlin’ right on up.” 

Carol snorted at him. She turned, craning her neck slightly, to smile at him. Her body shook with the shockwaves from her quiet laughter.

“Won’t that hurt my feet more?” She asked.

“Way I’m looking at it, your mind’ll be so damned blown that you won’t remember your feet was hurtin’ in the first place,” Daryl said. 

“You talk a big game,” Carol said. “You sure you can deliver?” 

Daryl hummed at her and shrugged his shoulders. He walked over to the pot and stirred it, not wanting the ingredients to the hearty stew to stick to the bottoms or side.

“I don’t know,” he said. “To be honest, I ain’t never fucked me. You’d be the one to know if I could deliver on that promise or not.” 

Carol smiled and leaned back in her chair, clearly rearranging herself to be more comfortable.

“You can do more than just deliver on it,” Carol said. “You might be being a bit too modest.” 

“Now I know you just yankin’ my ass around,” Daryl said. “Still—I might not can do all that, but…I’d do whatever you wanted. Make you feel as good as I could.” 

“You always make me feel good,” Carol assured him.

“This stew’s gonna make you an’ Sprout both feel good,” Daryl said with a laugh. “Sprout ain’t opposed to the smell, is he?” 

Carol smiled at him.

“No,” she said. She let her hand drift down to her stomach. Daryl didn’t miss it. In the few days since they’d learned of the Sprout’s existence, Carol had been practically hooked on it, twenty-four seven. She touched herself often, though Daryl was certain that it was mostly something she wasn’t really conscious of doing. She liked for him to touch her, too, and he made it a point to often brush his fingers against her stomach or to pay homage to their little one with soft kisses whenever they were in the bed together and his face was in close proximity to her tummy. She randomly reminded Daryl, too, that she was pregnant and Sprout was there. And she seemed so happy by his acknowledgement of the little life, that he never missed an opportunity to remind her that he was thinking about the baby. For two days, every time he had a moment, he sent her a little text message that asked ‘How’s Sprout,” but he replaced the word with the tiny little two-leafed plant he’d found among his emojis. She liked it enough that she now replaced “Sprout” with the emoji every time she responded with some piece of information. 

“Smell OK to him?” 

“Smell’s good,” Carol said. “Delicious. I didn’t realize how hungry I am.” She laughed to herself. “My stomach’s growling just thinking about it.” 

Daryl moved to start slicing the bread from the large loaf he’d bought.

“In that case, you get a big ass bowl,” he said. “And two slices of bread—some extra butter on ‘em, too.” 

“You’re trying to make me fat,” Carol said.

“I’m not. A little fat’s good for Sprout. Helps pad the organs and stuff so—so the growin’ happens easier.” 

“It does not,” Carol scolded playfully. “You made that up.” 

Daryl laughed to himself as he smeared softened butter onto the bread.

“Maybe I did, but I’m sure it’s true,” Daryl said. “Besides—you’re like way too skinny as it is. You really do need to gain a little weight. It won’t hurt you to eat when you’re hungry, Carol, and I bet you that Dr. Martin would agree with me if I was to call and ask her.”

Carol didn’t argue with him. When he placed bowls of stew on the table, silverware and napkins, and plates with the buttered bread, she didn’t argue. When he brought her a glass of iced water, and sat down with a beer for himself, she only said “thank you” sincerely and commented on how absolutely wonderful everything smelled and looked—and how spoiled she felt by having him prepare it for her and serve it to her when she’d been at work for an hour and a half longer than she’d intended.

And she complimented the stew when she tasted it, and she bit a large bite off her buttered bread before she even turned the conversation away from the food at all. 

It was good, but the best part about it was watching how pleased she looked with the meal and knowing that she was eating well—that he’d provided her with something that would nourish her and the baby. It almost made Daryl feel some kind of primitive satisfaction with himself.

“How’d it go with your friends?” Daryl asked after they’d been eating for a moment. He wanted to tell people about Sprout, as well, but he’d made the decision not to tell anyone except Merle until Carol had told her friends. He knew they were all really close, and he knew how things travelled in Living Springs. He didn’t want them finding out, through some kind of grapevine, that Carol was pregnant and then feeling upset that she hadn’t shared the news with them first. “I tried textin’ you about it to check on things an’ all…”

“I’m so sorry,” Carol said, practically jumping as her memory was very clearly jogged. “I saw your text, and I meant to text you back, but…I didn’t see it until right before the college class came in. I thought I’d get back to you as soon as we got things settled, but it didn’t ever let up. I didn’t even think about it. I barely even looked at my phone when I texted you that I was going to be late and, then, that I was on my way. I just wanted to get home.” 

“It’s OK,” Daryl assured her. He could actually feel her anxiety across the table. “I ain’t pissed or nothin’. You got busy. That’s it. Hell—you texted me you was late, and you texted you was comin’. Those two texts mattered more to me than anything else. At least I was able to just be here gettin’ supper ready, and I didn’t have to worry that somethin’ had happened and you was in a ditch somewhere or nobody had bothered to get in touch with me to tell me that there was somethin’ terrible goin’ on.” 

A smile turned up the corner of Carol’s mouth.

“Would you really be that worried?” She asked.

“You’re over an hour outta your routine,” Daryl said. “Yeah—I’da been worried. So, I appreciate your text to keep me from havin’ a stroke over the whole damned thing. Now—tell me how it went with your friends.” 

“It went fine,” Carol said, shrugging her shoulders.

“Michonne ain’t said nothin’ ugly to you?” Daryl asked. He’d been concerned. He knew that Michonne had said a couple things to Andrea that, according to Merle, had Andrea pretty strung up. Daryl didn’t want her saying things to Carol to hurt her feelings and take away even one of the times when she practically danced over to him to remind him, in case he’d forgotten, that their little Sprout was growing like a little weed. 

“No,” Carol said, hesitating slightly.

“I don’t feel quite convinced,” Daryl said. “Everything OK?” 

“She didn’t really say anything to me,” Carol said. “I mean—congratulations and that was it. Andrea—told her a little how she felt…about some of the things she’d kind of said to her. And Michonne explained herself, I guess. How she felt about everything.” 

“She ain’t said no more shit to Andrea, did she?” Daryl asked. 

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

“Kind of?”

“Kind of—like what?” Daryl asked.

“She just said that—and I mean, it’s not that it’s not true—she just said that it was fast, you know?”

“So?” 

“And—well, that Tyreese knows what kind of man Merle is, and what kind of man he’s always been. You know?”

“I think I know what kinda man Merle is prob’ly as good as anybody in the whole world,” Daryl said.

Carol laughed to herself.

“She just said that he was the kind of man that, you know, Andrea met at Salty’s. The kind of man that picked her up at Salty’s and, I guess—the idea was kind of that he’s been uncommitted his whole life and now this is so sudden…maybe he changes his mind. Maybe he leaves Andrea sort of holding all of this on her own and decides he wants something else or…or just doesn’t want this at all.”

Daryl’s stomach felt uncomfortable and the bite of bread that he was chewing grew exponentially in his mouth. He finally managed to wash it down with water, but he didn’t enjoy it. He wondered, for a second, if that was how Carol felt in those moments when Sprout would suddenly announce to her some great displeasure with food.

“Are you OK?” Carol asked, furrowing her brow with concern.

“First off,” Daryl said. “If Michonne don’t be nicer to Andrea, she’s gonna see just exactly what kinda man Merle Dixon can be. He don’t believe in goin’ after women in no physical sense, but he ain’t against tellin’ one what he thinks of her if he gets to feelin’ that it can’t be avoided. I won’t deny that Merle’s done his share of runnin’ around. And he’s picked up more’n his share of women from Salty’s to set ‘em free out the back door like moths or some shit when he was done with ‘em. But the way he’s been with Andrea? Merle ain’t never been like this before, and he don’t seem in danger of changin’ jack shit. His biggest damn concern right now is what the hell to do to make Andrea happy—and he’s gonna be pissed the hell off if he gets wind that it’s one person just steady pissin’ in her cornflakes.”

“Daryl…” Carol said.

“What the hell’s it matter to her, anyway, what they do?” Daryl asked. “Ain’t like she’s raisin’ their kid.”

“Daryl…” Carol said.

“Fuckin’—Merle’s talkin’ about these classes he seen advertised at the Y. Got classes for like mommies and daddies or some shit like that. Some ‘how to have a baby’ class advertised. And he said there was one for just daddies. Like a whole class just on doin’ it all right. Knowin’ how to be the best helper you could be or some shit. Wants to sign up for all of ‘em—the whole damn list of ‘em. Wanted me to take ‘em with him. And here we are talkin’ that shit over at lunch and the whole damn time he don’t know that Michonne’s over there at the café fillin’ Andrea’s head full of ideas about maybe he just up and leaves her so he can go fuck somebody else.”

“Daryl…” Carol said.

“What?” Daryl asked.

“Take some deep breaths? You’re making me nervous.” 

Daryl realized that his heart was pounding. He was angry, and it was sobering that he might be concerning Carol. He appreciated her letting him know. He willed himself to relax.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For real—I am. Please don’t be scared, OK? I ain’t—I didn’t mean nothin’. Eat your food. I don’t wanna be the one that put you off it.” 

“It’s OK,” Carol assured him, her voice unusually soft. She picked up a piece of bread. He saw a very slight tremor clearly run through her hand. 

“Shit—for real, I’m fuckin’ sorry.” 

“It’s OK,” Carol repeated. “Andrea and Michonne—I think they made up. Andrea was pretty clear how she felt and, I think Michonne’s going to stop saying anything. Basically, it’s just a case of—you know. I hope it goes OK for you, but I won’t say anything else. That kind of thing.” 

“It just bothers me,” Daryl said. “On the one hand, I’ve never seen my brother this damn dedicated to anything before. Sucks that he could be that way and people could still be doubtin’ his ass. Waitin’ for him to fail.”

“I don’t think she wants him to fail,” Carol said. “I think—Mich is very protective. And she’s always been the Mama of the group. I think she just..hopes he won’t fail. She doesn’t want Andrea to be hurt.” 

“She’s hurtin’ her,” Daryl said.

Carol shrugged her shoulders. 

“Maybe we do that, sometimes. In trying to protect the ones we love, we hurt them.” She hesitated a half a second. “Does Merle really want to do all those classes at the Y?” 

“Yeah,” Daryl said. “There’s two of ‘em. One you sign up with as a couple. Like me an’ you and him an’ Andrea would do it. It’s like all the practical stuff about—you know—about havin’ the baby and everything. And then there’s like some kinda how to be a daddy class. He was wantin’ us to do it together.” 

“Do you want to do it?” Carol asked.

“Would you mind? It would mean that I weren’t always home when you’re home,” Daryl said.

Carol smiled at him.

“I think I can make an exception,” she teased. “It could be good for you—if only that it’s spending some time with Merle. Besides, I wouldn’t hate having an evening here or there to just be quiet.” 

“I think I wanna do it,” Daryl admitted.

“I think you should,” Carol said. “You absolutely should. Are you—feeling better?” 

“Just pisses me off,” Daryl said. “Maybe I weren’t never pickin’ up women like Merle did. That shit weren’t my thing. I mean—there was one or two from time to time, but…it weren’t a thing. But I met you at Salty’s. And we did things kinda damn fast. And—I ain’t been tied down before. So—does that mean she’s thinkin’ the same thing about me? That I’ma just balk? Run away some mornin’ ‘cause I changed my mind?” 

“Is that what you’re going to do?” Carol asked, looking somewhat amused.

“How the hell can you ask me that?” Daryl asked, a bit of his earlier anger bubbling up. 

“I’m just saying that—if you know that’s not what you’re going to do, and I believe that’s not what you’re going to do, then…what does it matter what Michonne thinks?” 

Daryl sat back in his chair.

“It don’t make you nervous?” 

“That you’re going to leave me?” Carol asked. Daryl nodded. “It—hadn’t crossed my mind. Should it make me nervous, Daryl?” 

“No,” Daryl said. 

“I was at Salty’s, too,” Carol said. “And—I brought you home with me. I haven’t been in any relationships since Ed. Does it make you nervous that I might leave?” 

“It’s your house.” 

“It’s our house,” Carol said. “And you know what I mean.” 

“No,” Daryl said. “At least—I would hope you wouldn’t.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Carol said. 

“Me either,” Daryl said. 

“Then—whatever anybody says is just something they say,” Carol said. “Right?” 

“You’re right,” Daryl said, relaxing into his spot and picking at his bread. “She better lay offa Andrea, though, or it’s gonna cause some trouble between Merle an’ Ty at work.” 

“I think they’ve said their peace,” Carol said. “I think Michonne’s going to just—stay out of it. And I think—it’s very sweet that Merle wants to take classes.” 

Daryl laughed to himself. 

“Merle didn’t like takin’ classes when he was in school, so…”

“He loves Andrea,” Carol said. “And that’s exactly how it should be.” 

“I think he still can’t believe she loves him.”

Carol smiled. 

“She does,” she said, nodding her head.

“It’s somethin’ he and I have in common—it’s hard to believe the best thing that happened to you can be real,” Daryl said. “It’s still hard for me to believe, sometimes, that you love me.”

Carol’s smiled renewed itself.

“Oh—I certainly do,” she said. “Finish your food, Daryl. I need a shower and…I was thinking it might be a good time for the both of us to play like…maybe like we’re stranded in some tropical rainforest. Bathing under the waterfall together.” 

Daryl laughed to himself.

“Nobody around to see what the hell we do,” he said. “Maybe like—we even gone a lil’ bit wild, we been stranded out there so long. Just us on some island.” 

Carol smiled.

“Nothing to do except—make love under the waterfall?” 

“You think we can pull it off?” Daryl asked.

“I certainly think we ought to try,” Carol said with a shrug before she smirked at him and took another large bite of the bread she’d dipped in her stew.


	81. Chapter 81

AN: Here we are, another chapter here. 

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

1111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

Carol’s whole body felt loose and relaxed—almost as if she were a cooked spaghetti noodle—as she lounged in bed and waited on Daryl. The hot water from the shower had been relaxing. The promised orgasms hadn’t hurt, either, and Daryl was a man who was careful to deliver on his promises—and he was one who enjoyed, especially, delivering on his sexual promises. Daryl had practically tucked Carol in, and he’d insisted she not move, so she sat still against the pillows while he made the run to the other room for the things she’d requested.

When Daryl came into the bedroom, Carol couldn’t help but smile at him. He was wearing nothing but the bottoms of his pajamas—red and green plaid—that she’d picked up a few days ago so that they could start a small collection of matching pajama sets. He’d insisted they wear them when she’d started getting ready for bed, but she didn’t ignore the fact that he felt entirely comfortable, now, walking around their home with his shirt off. 

She didn’t say anything about that, though, for fear that she might make him feel self-conscious just by drawing attention to it.

“You are a good-looking man,” she offered, as he came into the room.

His face immediately ran a warm red in the dim light of the room—nothing but the bedside lamps offering them light.

“I was thinkin’ the same thing about you,” Daryl said. “Not that you a good-lookin’ man, I mean. I mean that—you look damn good.” 

Carol smiled and laughed to herself.

“Reading glasses turn you on?” She asked.

“You turn me on,” Daryl offered, crawling into the bed and dropping his spoils between them—a pen and a notepad from the living room. “Hell—I think you’re hot no matter what you wear. And I already know your ass has a thing for plaid. Don’t think I haven’t filed that away in the need-to-know corner of my mind.” 

“Only for you in plaid,” Carol said with a wink. Daryl’s face blushed red again. “But—I do have a thing for you in plaid.” 

Rather than respond, he leaned, from his position, and pushed the blanket back just enough to kiss her stomach through her pajama top and nuzzle his face against it. Carol brushed his hair, still damp from the shower, with her fingertips. 

“I love you,” he said with a contented sigh.

“I love you, too,” Carol said. “Should we—make our Christmas list?” 

Daryl sat up and quickly slid in next to her, bringing himself right up against her so that they could snuggle together and make the list of activities that they wanted to do together.

Carol had celebrated Christmas with her family when she was young. She’d gone through all the motions of Christmas to make Ed happy—doing exactly what it was that he wanted. She’d started to celebrate the holiday, for herself, when she’d finally been free of Ed. 

She had never, though, celebrated a Christmas quite like the ones in her romance novels or in Daryl’s movies. She liked the idea of it—the warm, Frasier fir and cinnamon scented new traditions already taking shape in her mind—and she knew that Daryl desperately wanted it.

The only thing to do, then, was to make a list to make sure that they managed to deck-the-halls as completely as either of them might dream of doing. 

“I have some decorations in the attic,” Carol said. “We should bring those out and go through them.”

“I can put lights up outside,” Daryl said. “You got a tree?”

“An artificial one,” Carol said. “It’s the one I’ve had forever.”

“Since you were married to Ed?” 

Carol laughed to herself.

“I have a lot of things that I’ve had since I was married to Ed.” 

“We’ll get a new tree,” Daryl said. “You oughta have a new one anyway, and…I don’t want Ed’s Christmas tree.”

“It’s just an artificial tree,” Carol said. “Ed didn’t really even like Christmas.” Daryl gave her a look. She nodded her understanding. “We’ll get a new tree,” she ceded, writing it on the list under what she’d already added from their conversation. “Maybe—this year we get a real tree? Just to see how we like it? I always wanted a real tree, but Ed didn’t like that you had to buy a new one each year and…”

“Don’t need to hear another damn word about it,” Daryl said. “Write it down. Real tree. And I want some of them—that shiny silver shit that they hang all over it.” 

“Tinsel?” Carol asked. “Like the shiny—like aluminum foil?” Daryl nodded. Carol wrote it on the list. “What else do you want?” 

“Christmas cards,” Daryl said.

“You want to buy Christmas cards?” 

“I want us to take a picture for our cards,” Daryl said. “You, and me, and Sprout. Want us to…you know…announce Sprout.” 

Carol couldn’t help but smile. She thought her pulse even kicked up a notch. Daryl was so sweet about the baby. He was sweet, in general, but he was especially sweet when it came to their little Sprout. And every time he spoke so lovingly about the little thing, everything in Carol’s body seemed to flutter in response. She had never felt that way before, not even when she’d been pregnant before and Ed had still not realized that he didn’t care for her condition. 

“Who would we send Christmas cards to?” Carol asked. “We’ll have told everyone by then.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Daryl said. “We’ll get a handful made. Give ‘em to the same people. If the worst thing that happens to Merle and Andrea is they get a Christmas card from us tellin’ ‘em what they already know, then I guess they’ll survive. I want—I want us to take a picture, Carol. Put it on a card. Is it that big a deal?”

Carol laughed to herself. She added it to the list. 

“No,” she said. “As long as—we can invest in matching shirts. Plaid.” She winked at him again, and he reached a hand over and lovingly patted her stomach. Everything in her body seemed to flutter again. She wondered if he had any idea how much power he had over her—how drawn to him she really felt. She could tell him, but he’d never fully believe her. He’d always think she was teasing, at least a little. She hummed, in satisfaction, instead of saying anything. He liked that better, anyway. He responded to it better. 

In response, Daryl leaned and nuzzled her neck and ear. He kissed her, a few times, softly on the side of her face, on her neck, and even on her earlobe. She shivered and laughed to herself.

“You keep this up, and the rainforest isn’t going to hold me all night.” 

He nuzzled her again, and he slipped his hand inside her pajama shirt so that his skin could rest next to the skin of her abdomen. 

“You write our Christmas list,” he said, his voice recognizably throaty with a certain huskiness it always seemed to pick up when he was turned on. “And maybe we’ll kick it off with a little welcome to the Christmas season lovin’.” 

“Is that some official Christmas tradition?” Carol asked.

“It’s about to be,” Daryl said, smiling at her as he moved to put a little effort into nibbling her neck. 

“Should I add that to the list?” She asked.

“I got a feelin’ we’ll remember,” Daryl said. 

Carol laughed and hummed her approval at his tasting of her skin.

“If you keep that up—I’m not going to be able to write anything,” Carol offered.

He laughed to himself and backed off, but he kept his hand on her stomach. She would never ask him to move it—not ever. Just feeling his hand there made it feel like he had a string that ran down between her legs—it felt like he was, somehow, able to tug on it and cause some kind of pleasant ache, which served as a reminder of exactly what she hoped they’d be doing when they finished.

“List first,” Daryl said. “Then lovin’.”

“I’ll write whatever you want on this piece of paper. You name it,” Carol teased. She appreciated Daryl’s crooked smile. She accepted the kiss offered her. She deepened it, and nipped his lip as he pulled away.

“Wanna make Christmas dinner together—all the works,” Daryl said. 

“Of course,” Carol said, writing it down. “We’ll invite Merle and Andrea—and maybe Alice and Sadie? Alice never has anywhere to go on Christmas.” 

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely,” Daryl said, smiling. “The bigger the family the better. Agnes, too.” 

“Wouldn’t dare have it without her,” Carol confirmed.

“She gets a card, too,” Daryl said.

“Of course,” Carol said.

“Gotta tell her. You wanna—tell her with me?”

“About Sprout?” 

“The hell else would I want us to tell her together?” 

“I didn’t know if you meant the dinner, Daryl.” 

“We can tell her that, too,” Daryl said with a shrug. “All at once, if you want. Whatta you say? I know I’m on the books for her next week. Maybe you could sneak away at lunch?” 

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Carol said. “Maybe—we can come up with something cute? Some—fun little announcement?” Carol smiled to herself at Daryl’s obvious pleasure over the suggestion. “We’ll figure something out,” she assured him. “What else?” 

“Go somewhere,” Daryl said. “At least for a weekend. Drive up to Tennessee or somethin’ and rent a place. Just to see the snow. Play in it for a day.” 

“I’d love to see the snow with you,” Carol said. “Make love to you in a mountain cabin? By a fire?” 

“Write that shit down,” Daryl said. “What else? What do you want?” 

“There’s nothing here that I don’t want,” Carol said. 

“You don’t want nothin’ special?” 

“Everything is special, Daryl, with you.” 

“Now you just tryin’ to flatter me.” 

“I’m really not,” Carol said. “It’s just—all of this? It’s everything I could ever want. You’re everything I could ever want.” 

“And Sprout?” Daryl asked.

Carol’s whole body ran warm. Daryl seemed to tug at the invisible string that he didn’t know he controlled. 

“Absolutely Sprout,” Carol confirmed. “And—Daryl? I can never thank you enough for…giving me Sprout.” 

Daryl’s face ran the same warm red, again, that it had run earlier. He leaned in for another kiss—deep and slow—and Carol indulged him. He gently kneaded her skin, where his fingertips rested over her abdomen, and Carol was certain that it hadn’t been a conscious decision.

“Thank you, woman, for growin’ Sprout for me. For the both of us.” 

“I like your Christmas card idea, Daryl,” Carol admitted. “And—all the pictures you said you want to take to keep track of…of how Sprout grows.” 

“Every week,” Daryl confirmed. 

Carol nodded, smiling to herself at the thought that their little one would grow—and they would record it every week—and, hopefully, this time it would continue long beyond the eighteen-week mark that, deep in her gut, terrified Carol since it marked the last time that she had, teary-eyed and shaking, heard nothing but silence and the empty words of condolence offered by the technician. 

At the memory of it, Carol’s stomach ached and her throat felt immediately scratchy.

“What’s wrong?” Daryl asked, drawing her back to the moment. He looked at her with a furrowed brow. His hand had left her stomach and, now, was holding her chin.

“Nothing,” she said, trying to put her smile back and fix her face.

“You OK? Don’t look like nothin’. You look sick all of a sudden. Pale. You gonna throw up? Sprout ain’t doin’ OK?” 

Carol swallowed against the ache in her throat. She willed herself not to cry—she didn’t want to explain, right now, the intrusive thoughts that sometimes found their way to the front of her mind. She didn’t want to explain why, for no reason at all, she suddenly wanted to cry. 

“Sprout’s OK,” she assured Daryl. A tear escaped, and then another. Daryl, as concerned as he had been before, wiped them away with his palm. “I promise,” Carol said, not needing him to ask for her to know what he was communicating with his eyes. “Sprout’s OK.” 

“Are you?” Daryl asked.

“I’m—better than OK,” Carol said. “You always make me better than OK.” He didn’t look fully convinced, but he half-nodded his head. He was starting to accept that, sometimes, Carol’s hormones got the best of her and, maybe, that was something that might happen with more regularity as their little one made its presence more known. “I’m OK,” Carol said again, this time feeling it more sincerely than before. “I’m just—so happy to be doing this with you, Daryl. All of it.” 

“OK,” Daryl said, signaling he was accepting her explanation. “You’ll let me know, though, if there’s somethin’ wrong?” 

“Yeah,” Carol said, nodding her head. She took a deep breath, feeling herself calming as the bad memories faded to the back of her mind again and she worked to replace them with happy thoughts of her life now. “What about—a gingerbread house?” She asked.

“And gingerbread men,” Daryl said. 

Carol smiled at him. 

“We’ll make a whole little family,” Carol said. “Me, and you, and even Sprout.” 

“And then a whole damn bunch to eat, too,” Daryl said. 

Carol laughed to herself. She leaned into him and snuggled against him. He hugged her back as best he could from his position beside her. She added their gingerbread plans to the list. 

“Stockings,” she said. 

“And mistletoe,” Daryl said.

“Mistletoe?” Carol asked.

“More reasons to kiss you,” Daryl said.

“You can kiss me all you want,” Carol said.

“And I like that,” Daryl said. “Love it. Don’t get me wrong. But—I can’t wait to hold you an’ kiss you under the mistletoe, too.” 

“If you like the idea that much,” Carol said, “then maybe we ought to get an extra bunch to hang in here. Right over the bed.” 

“You really think I’ma argue?” Daryl asked with a smirk. “Write that down,” he said, tapping the pad.


End file.
